Knowing
by LamoreVinceraTheFirst
Summary: I have been alive for 108 years, and I still do not know whether God exists. I have a feeling, that if He does – and if I ever meet Him – it’s going to be years before I stop stamping my feet and cussing Him out. - Alice's story, in her own words.
1. Chapter 1

I have been alive for 108 years, and I still do not know whether God exists. I have a feeling, that if He does – and if I ever meet Him – it's going to be years before I stop stamping my feet and cussing Him out.

I was born Mary Alice Brandon in Mississippi in 1901, to Josiah and Elizabeth Brandon. Father was the preacher at one of Biloxi's churches, and Mother… Mother was his wife. That was all. She cooked, she cleaned, she waited on him, she procreated. He was blissfully happy with her, and, as far as I could see, she with him.

I wasn't to really understand how much more my mother could've been until the sixties, and feminism started to hit. (God, I loved the sixties. ) When I was a child, though, a wee little thing with black hair and big blue eyes, I saw my mother as a paragon of womanhood. And, honestly, she was in 1901.

My father was a self-important man, prone to impromptu sermons. They were usually about the evils of something, and if directed towards me, ended in long speeches about Hell. My father had me thoroughly convinced that I was headed for Hell. Edward would've gotten along with him swimmingly, I think.

My memories of my mother have grown faint, mostly because she was such a quiet presence in my life. I can remember bits and pieces of things like having my unruly hair brushed gently, of the piercing glare I'd get if I misbehaved. One of the few things I do remember clearly, though, is the first time I made a prediction.

I was 18, and still lived at home, as my father hadn't yet found a man "godly enough" to marry me to. The women's suffrage movement was going full speed, and my father was wholeheartedly opposed to it. He believed the same thing about women that he did about children – they should be seen and not heard. This was terribly hard for me, as I have always had an effervescent personality. "Sit down, stay there and shut up" was absolutely the opposite of what I desperately wanted to do. In fact, I'd been barred from singing hymns in church due to my predilection for trying to dance to the music.

One day, Father decided that he was going to do these misguided suffragettes a favor and preach to them as they marched down the town's main street with their signs. He'd had his parishioners build a small platform just for this purpose. (How horrified he would've been to find out how many of those parishioners' wives supported the suffrage movement! I'm giggling picturing him, his face turning red, a vein popping out at his temple while his eyes bugged out in anger…)

I'd had the strangest dream minutes before he was set to leave. It wasn't a dream, really – I was fully awake, but it was as if I'd been whisked away into a dream world. Images flooded my mind, and I cried out.

"Father," I nearly shouted, "you mustn't go!"

He looked down at me sternly. "Mary Alice, you will not shout at me in that manner."

"I'm sorry, Father," I said meekly. "I just… I… You can't go. You can't."

"Your father knows what he's doing, darling," my mother said softly, hefting my two-year-old sister to her other hip.

Tears began to spring to my eyes, and my hands balled up into fists. "Father, please! Don't go. You'll be hurt."

A soft look came into his eyes then. "I will be fine, daughter. Why would you think I would be hurt?"

"Because – I… I… I saw you being hurt." There was silence.

My mother finally broke it and said "You just had a bad dream, Mary Alice."

"No," I cried, "I wasn't asleep. It wasn't a dream. I – I – I SAW it. In my head."

Father's look turned icy. Mother put Cynthia down and patted me on the head. "I think Mary Alice doesn't feel well, darling," she said to Father. "I'll put her to bed." She gripped my collarbone and led me away.

I watched my father give me one last dark look and then turn and walk out the door.

Hours later, I awoke to voices in the small house. "Lie him down there," I heard my mother say, in a much louder voice than was usual for her. I crawled out of my bed and ran to where she was.

My father was sprawled out on the floor, white as a sheet. As I crept closer, I could see that his legs were splayed in funny angles at the knees, and he was bleeding. Someone – who, I didn't know or care – yelled that they were getting the doctor, and ran out the door. My mother crouched down to him, whispering prayers, her tears dripping onto his unmoving hand. I watched as blood seeped into her gown where she knelt.

It seemed both forever and no time at all before a gray-haired man carrying a bag rushed in. He rudely swept my mother aside, poking and prodding at my father. My mother staggered back into the hallway where I was hidden.

"You," She said in a hoarse whisper, seeing me there for the first time. She gripped my shoulders, and with a wild look in her eyes, shook me roughly. "Will he live? _Will he live?_"

I started crying again. "I don't know, Mother. I'm so sorry. I don't know."

She put her face in her hands and cried as the doctor approached. "Mrs. Brandon, I must take your husband to the hospital straightaway," he said firmly.

"Will my husband live?"

The doctor frowned. "I don't know. I will do my best." With that, he summoned two men to help lift my father, and they left with him.

One man stayed behind. I knew him; he was a faithful member of my father's church. "Can I do anything for you, Mrs. Brandon?"

"Please," my mother asked softly, "tell me what happened."

The man bit his lip. "The platform… It wasn't strong enough. We TOLD Mr. Zimmerman that David Barber shouldn't be working on it. He's too young. Had grand ideas… Wanted to make it higher, many times higher than planned, so's all the women could see him better. We told him it was a stupid idea, but Mr. Zimmerman said that the boy should get some practice if he was gonna be a carpenter."

My mother nodded.

"It – it was too tall. Not supported enough. I don't think the Barber boy even used enough nails. It… fell. We got Pastor Brandon out as soon as we could, ma'am."

My mother nodded. "Thank you."

The man nodded in return and left, not knowing what else to say.

My father did live; the doctor was somehow able to staunch the flow of blood. His legs were left mangled and useless, and after months of laying in his sickbed, we were finally able to get him into a wheelchair.

He never looked at me the same after he recovered. Sure, I had had a "challenging temperament", as he used to say, but I was still his daughter. Along with the fire and brimstone preaching did come fatherly love, stern as it might have been. Now, though, I was something else. Something untrustworthy. Something to be feared. Something that evil had chosen to roost in.

I tried very hard to be good. I prayed and prayed to God that these visions would please, please be taken away.

They weren't.

I then tried to convince my parents that maybe the visions came from God, since He seemed so unwilling to rid me of them. This earned me the one and only time in my life that my father had me beaten. He couldn't do it himself, so he ordered my mother to do it. The same distrust of me that had taken root in my father had become part of my mother, too, so any motherly qualms she might have had about hurting me were gone. She thought she was doing the right thing.

My father started trying to "cure" me soon after. It started with his command that I should sleep with a Bible under my pillow every night.

I tried to hide my visions; my mother and father weren't stupid, though. I could never keep the blank stare off my face when I had one. If I was lucky enough to have one when they weren't around, then they could still tell by the set of my face later. Whenever the triggering event was about to occur, I couldn't help but bite my lip, or try and excuse myself frantically.

As things progressed and it became clear that the Bible under my pillow wasn't working, my father's strategies became more stringent.

I was not allowed to leave the house, except at nighttime. I slept in a small locked shack on our land built for me, so that I wouldn't corrupt anyone else in the house. Later on, I was put in the shack and not allowed to leave there. My mother brought me food, clothes, and water to drink and wash in every day. She was forbidden to talk to me, so I couldn't corrupt her.

My father started visiting, then, for whole days. He'd take his Bible and pray over me continuously, commanding whatever demon had obviously inhabited me to leave. He did this for weeks.

It didn't work, and my ability to hide that I'd had visions didn't get any better, either.

Somehow, through all of this, I was still able to smile. I'd had my cries over what I'd been going through, and decided that it wasn't any use to drown in sadness like a part of me wanted to. I decided to focus on the fact that, between Father's visits, I was finally free.

I wore my hair down all the time. Why go to the trouble of pinning it up if I didn't have to? I danced to my heart's content, sang at the top of my lungs, kept whatever hours I chose, and wrote incessantly. I wrote my feelings down, my hopes, my thoughts, and my fantasies. Mary Alice Brandon, the famous dancer, beloved by a whole nation. She traveled the world with her handsome husband at her side. I imagined him with beautiful honey-blonde hair, wide blue eyes like mine, and a warm smile…

I passed my days like that, and without fanfare, turned nineteen. I hadn't been seen by anyone save my parents for months, and wondered what the gossip around town must be. I wondered if I'd ever be released.

My wish came true on April 20, 1920. My mother opened the door to my shack and left it open. She looked at me with utter sadness and asked me to come with her. She blindfolded me and led me to my father's car.

We drove for what seemed like forever. Finally, when she stopped, she led me by the hand into a strange place. It smelled of unwashed bodies, and I could hear distant cries and screams. My mother's grip on my elbow released, and I heard her whisper into my ear: "I'm sorry, my Mary Alice. So sorry. But your father – we can't – I…" Nothing more was said. My blindfold was taken off, and I found myself staring at a strangely pale man wearing dark glasses. My mother had left.

"Mary Alice," the pale man said, smiling. "Welcome to St. Dymphna's Mental Asylum."


	2. Chapter 2

The man with the pale skin and dark glasses smiled at me. "So, Miss Brandon," he said, it seems you are.." He shuffled his papers. "…Having visions, I see."

I didn't know what to say. I stood numbly in front of him, nervously playing with my hands.

"Not a talker, I see," he said. "Are you going to be trouble for us, Mary Alice?" His voice was as smooth as satin, but it still didn't make me feel any less apprehensive. He smiled again, revealing rows of sparkling teeth. It was disconcerting, to say the least.

"I won't be trouble," I whispered. "I promise."

Pale Man nodded, and took me by the elbow. We began to walk through the asylum.

I couldn't tell what color the walls used to be; they were now a very dingy, dirty-looking gray. I wondered what lay under all the grime. My feet padded along the cold tile, and I wondered if I was leaving footprints in the dirt.

Screams, cries, and moans echoed off the walls, and the massive knot that now inhabited my body became tighter, more painful. What were they doing to these faceless people behind locked doors?

I shivered under my thin dress. Whether it was from cold or from fear, I didn't know. I searched frantically for a way to tune this all out, a way to go somewhere else – and I found it.

Unbidden, an image came to my mind. I was in a dirty place with what looked like ancient, worn wood tables. I heard myself say something in a laughing voice about… What was that? Someone kept me waiting, was that it?

And then I saw him. A tall man with the honey-blonde hair that I'd wished on my dream-husband, but with a slight wave to it. He did not possess the blue eyes, though. His were strange. Crimson red. And stranger than that, I didn't balk, not one bit.

The man looked down at the ground and murmured "Sorry, ma'am", almost incomprehensibly, and I laughed. It sounded like a small tinkling bell in that dirty, worn place. I stretched out my hand, and for some reason, the beautiful man took it. His hand was very pale – and covered with strange scars. Not an inch of his skin seemed unscathed. It made me want to fold him into my arms, to comfort him, to soothe him, to hold him while he cried that violence out. I didn't, though, and contented myself with the gentle touch as he put his large hand in my small one.

He smiled through his haunted eyes, and all was right with the world.

It was then that reality bullied its way back in. I became cognizant of Pale Man shaking me. "Mary Alice. Mary Alice!" he shouted.

I could've cried the, that those few seconds of time with the dream man had been taken away from me.

"What did you see?" Pale Man hissed.

I shook my head mutely in fear.

Pale Man. sighed. "Mary Alice," he said softly, "We can't help you if you don't tell us what you see. Please, trust me."

That's when my temper overrode my fear. "Help me? _Help me?" _I cried. "You drag me into this… this _pit_ with people screaming, and you think I should trust you? You won't even tell me your name. And you're going to shut me in one of these rooms, do God knows what to me, and I'm going end up one of these screaming, moaning people. And I should trust you?"

He dragged on my arm with surprising strength, depositing me in a bleak, windowless room. "I am Dr. Scarlatti. My apologies for not introducing myself. That was terrible manners on my part." He sat me down on the room's thin cot, and crouched in front of me. "Don't be frightened," he said. "You're not insane. I know that."

This took me by surprise. "How do you know?"

Dr. Scarlatti shrugged. "I just… do. I will not mistreat you. Now, will you please tell me what you saw?"

I nodded numbly. "I saw a man. He had pale skin like yours, except it – it was scarred. All over. His eyes were red, but I didn't care. And I was waiting for him, somehow, even though he didn't know me. "

"Was his skin cold?"

I shook my head. "No." Scarlatti's eyebrows, all I could see over his dark glasses, bunched into a frown. All of a sudden, they shot up. "Ah," he said softly. "I understand.

"What do you understand? Do you know who the man is? He had blonde hair and-"

Scarlatti cut me off with a wave. "I don't know who your mystery man is. Listen, Mary Alice, I have to take a trip very soon, possibly tonight. I must go to Italy for a time. I will give orders and try to keep you left alone as much as possible, but I cannot guarantee anything." He stood up and paused at the door. "I will be back as soon as I can. Hide any visions you might have." Without another word, he turned and shut the door. I heard the lock clang into place.

All that was left after that – after I lost my protector – was to curl up on the thin cot and try to sleep.

I woke the next morning to a large, burly orderly shaking me. "Well, ain't you a pretty little thing," he drawled. "Time for your medication. You be good now. I wouldn't want to have to restrain you." A slightly malicious smile curled up the corner of his mouth, and I had no problem figuring out just what type of restraint he was thinking of.

As he grabbed my arm and bunched my sleeve up, I grew fearful. "Where is Dr. Scarlatti?"

"Dr. Scarlatti, he said, jamming a large needle into my arm, "ain't here." I bit my lip to keep from crying out. "He's gone to git on a plane to go somewhere. All I know is that you, pretty little thing, are s'posed to be kept nice and quiet. You git me?"

I nodded and swayed a bit as the medication began to hit. Before I knew it, the orderly's face fuzzed out, and I lapsed into unconsciousness.

I don't know how long I stayed that way. Days? Weeks? Any memories I might have had were half-formed. I vaguely remember seeing several orderlies leering at me as I lay on my cot. I also remember waking at some point and wishing for a bath. I remember seeing the back of my hand, the unnatural thinness of it, the bones standing out starkly in contrast to my pallor.

The first full memory after that interminable amount of time was that of Dr. Scarlatti leaning over me with his white face.

"You're back," I said groggily.

"Yes, I am." He smiled. "I won't order those drugs for you again unless you ask."

I nodded feebly. "How long has it been?"

"A month. You look terrible, Mary Alice. Did they not wake you to feed you?"

I rubbed my numb face. "Don't know."

He frowned. "I will take care of this." I heard him storm out, and a conversation begin and end in shouts. Dr. Scarlatti came back in, grimacing. "I have told them that you are to be permitted walks on the grounds with my supervision, and that you are not to miss a meal again. Were you… badly treated, ill-used in any way?"

I shook my head. "I don't know."

He held his hand out to me. "Well, then, come. We will walk outside. It's cloudy enough."

My struggling brain questioned the "cloudy enough", but I took his hand and allowed myself to be led.

We walked out a back door, and into the asylum's grounds. I could see in the distance great iron fences that had spikes at the top. A little of the cloud surrounding my mind dissipated as I breathed the fresh air.

The "asylum grounds" were bleak. I discovered that I was being led through a graveyard. The oldest graves were dirty, unkempt, and choked by weeds. There were hundreds of small gravestones there.

"My apologies for the scenery," Dr. Scarlatti said quietly.

"People die here?"

Scarlatti hesitated before he answered. "Yes. Sometimes illnesses sweep through, and sometimes our patients are so violent that they do harm to themselves."

I nodded, and noticed a sheet-wrapped body being lowered into a freshly dug grave. I wrapped my arms around myself and shivered.

"You won't," Scarlatti said in answer to my unspoken fear. "I will see to that."

"I don't understand, Doctor. Why are you so kind to me?"

"You're special, Mary Alice," he said softly. "You're not like the others. This is a place for people so insane that they are harmful to others. This is why they are locked in here. This is not the place for a girl whose family believes something as patently absurd as 'the devil's in my daughter'."

"You don't think I'm crazy." It was a statement made with a little surprise, a little fear.

"No." He smiled. "You're simply special, that's all. Very special." His voice trailed off, and he stared into the distance as we walked.

"What are you thinking of?"

"Italy," he said, smiling. "A small town named Volterra. Charming little place. Mostly charming, anyway," he chuckled.

"Oh, you must tell me about it," I said. "I've never been out of Mississippi."

He smiled down at me indulgently. "It's a beautiful little town near Florence. Beautiful churches, beautiful palazzos.." He sighed. "I wish I wasn't in this outpost, to be honest."

"Outpost?" That was confusing.

"Ah, yes," he said, looking as if he was searching for words. "I'm part of a… group. Charity. They posted me here."

I smiled a little. "I'm glad you're here, Dr. Scarlatti. I don't know what would have happened to me without you."

He smiled again. "I'm glad I met you, too, Ms. Brandon."

After the walk, he put me back in my room. I spent my night sleeping, and my days wondering about my honey-haired dream man, attempting to will another vision to myself. It didn't work.

The only other thing that captured my mind at all was the orderlies' gossip. Sometimes, I could hear them through my door; sometimes, they paid me no mind when my meals were delivered, and gossiped as I sat there.

Apparently illness was sweeping the asylum again. The dead were "stacking up", as one man put them. The epidemic was claiming so many lives that they were beginning to have a scarcity of patients. And the odd thing, one orderly mentioned, was that all the corpses had bite marks.

One night, I was awakened by Dr. Scarlatti. He held a finger to his lips and whisked me outside, to beyond the graves. A man waited under the canopy of a large tree, in darkness. All I could tell was that he wore a long, old-fashioned cloak.

As I got closer, with Dr. Scarlatti murmuring encouragement, I saw the moonlight reflect off of the cloaked man, unnaturally white teeth. "Ah, my dear Miss Brandon," he said, his Italian-accented voice a soft whisper. "I have heard so very much about you. May I touch your hand, dear?"

I looked to Dr. Scarlatti, who nodded, and I held out my hand. Only then did I see the crimson in his eyes and the strange, nearly translucent thinness of his skin. He gripped my hand with surprising, cold strength.

The man chuckled quietly after a minute. "Ah, Carlo," he said to the doctor beside me. "You have truly brought us a treasure, have you not?"

"I told you, Aro. My talents are never wrong."

Aro smiled at me. "You have my permission, Carlo. She will be a wonderful addition."

I was shocked into silence. In my shock, though, I could not help but catch the glimpse of a third set of red eyes, peering at me from their hidden spot farther away.


	3. Chapter 3

Calmly, Aro spoke. "Carlo, there is another of us near."

Dr. Scarlatti nodded. "I know. He is trying to hide his scent." He delicately sniffed the air. "He must be young, to not know that rolling in mud won't help."

I had thrown all belief and disbelief out the window at this point, and was simply taking things as they came. "One of us"? Red eyes all over the place? Overdeveloped senses of smell? Whatever. All I could do was accept what was in front of my eyes. Still being a living, breathing female, I turned my head and, as discreetly as possible, sniffed myself. If they could smell the other man from that far away, what must I smell like? A roll in the mud might improve me.

Aro gave a low chuckle. "You smell divine, my dear," he said. "Trust me on this."

I blushed and marshaled my courage. "Aro, may I ask you a question?" Carlo put his hand on my shoulder and gave me a little warning pressure, attempting to hold me back.

"That would depend on what the question was."

I ignored Dr. Scarlatti. "Do you… do you know a man with blonde hair, who has your eyes, who is scarred all over? He's very pale… I think he might be Southern." Carlo's hand relaxed. Apparently, this was not the question he was worried about me asking.

I wondered for a split second what question he might have been worried about, and it came to me in a flash.

What in God's name ARE you people?

Aro smiled, his teeth glinting in the moonlight. "I'm sorry, child, but I do not know the man of which you speak." He straightened. "Carlo, good work. I must go now. It is a long trip back."

Dr. Scarlatti dipped his head in acknowledgement. "Thank you for coming all this way."

"I will await further reports in Volterra. I have left Albrecht here for your use, and my confirmation. Do not delay much further with this one. A month at the latest. You know the rules." I blinked, and Aro was gone.

As I looked around in bewilderment, I noticed that the second pair of feral red eyes were gone as well.

Dr. Scarlatti – Carlo, I corrected myself – began to lead me back to the asylum. "Do I have to tell you to keep this all to yourself?"

I shook my head and laughed desperately. "Are you joking? Telling anyone anything would just lead to me getting… well, whatever it is that makes all the other patients scream."

Carlo nodded. "Good. We understand each other."

As we reached my room, I stopped the door from being shut. "Carlo…"

He smiled. "It's alright. You may call me Carlo."

"Carlo, what… what WAS Aro? What are you?"

He smiled sadly and shook his head. "Mary Alice, I can't answer that. You know I can't. Not yet. All you need to know is that I will not hurt you."

The door closed, and blackness enveloped my world yet again.

Carlo came in to see me the next day. People were beginning to talk, I told him; I'd heard the orderlies making fairly disgusting suggestions as to why he was in my room all the time. When I told him, Carlo laughed as if I'd made the world's funniest joke. He laughed so hard that he bent over, holding his sides.

"Well, I didn't expect it to be that disgusting to you," I sniffed, wrinkling my nose at him.

"No, no, my dear girl, you are quite lovely. It's simply that I don't… I…" For once, the always self-assured Carlo seemed at a loss for words. "Let's just say that I have monk-like qualities."

I frowned. "Monk-like…?" My eyebrows shot up as I realized that celibacy was what he referred to. My father had gone on long diatribes against the Catholic practice. He thought that ignoring "be fruitful and multiply" was a terrible sin. "Oh. Monk-like." I blushed at the thought.

Carlo patted my hand with his cold one. "Don't worry about what those men think."

I shrugged. "I don't. What's going to happen to me if rumors are flying that my virtue has been lost, anyway?" I said sadly. "Oh, no," I said in mock horror. "My father won't be able to find me a good Christian man to marry, with good social standing." The sarcasm dripped off my voice, and I realized something – I wanted that. I broke down in tears for the first time since coming to the asylum.

Carlo crouched in front of me and held my hand. "It will be alright," he said softly. "You saw it yourself. Your blonde man with red eyes, remember? Try and call him up again."

"I can't," I cried. "I try every day. I can't see him anymore. I remember the vision, but I can't-"

I had to stop talking as another vision slammed into me.

"What are you seeing? Speak to me, Mary Alice!"

"It's a man," I said, forcing the words out. "Pale. Red eyes. Dirty brown hair. He… He is coming for me. He has me up against a tree."

"Where?"

"Here. By the graveyard." My throat felt like it wanted to close. "He has me by my throat," I choked out. "He says… James. His name is James. He says… Volturi… They rejected him…" I said, my voice becoming fainter. "Help me... Please... Can't…" I was dimly aware of my hands scrabbling at my neck trying to fight off an invisible attacker.

Strong hands gripped mine, and I heard Carlo shout my name as the vision subsided. I took great gulps of air, and Carlo held me with his cold arms until the gasping went away.

"I must report this to Aro," Carlo said. "Come. We must speak to Albrecht." He frowned down at me. "Once again, I must warn you to keep this a secret."

"Who is Albrecht?" I asked as he led me through the halls.

"Albrecht is special, like you."

"He sees things, too?" We went down another hallway.

"He has a different gift. He can… speak over long distances. Very long distances."

We walked into another room, and Carlo shut the door behind him. A teenage boy, maybe 15 years old, sat on the bed. He had wheat-blonde hair and a stocky build – and the same pale skin and red eyes that Aro had.

"Carlo," he cried happily in German-accented English. "You worried me. I had not seen you. You need me?"

"I do. Mary Alice," he said, turning to me, "I need you to recount your vision to Albrecht here."

I told him all I knew, described it to the best of my ability. Panic began to creep back into my voice as James' hands closed against my throat, and I felt Carlo's cold but reassuring touch on my shoulder. Opening my eyes, I saw Albrecht sitting there, his mouth moving, his eyes unfocused. When he finished, he smiled.

"All we have to do now is wait."

He and Carlo spoke together, speaking of names I didn't know, until Albrecht held up a hand. Carlo quieted, and Albrecht spoke.

He spoke in the voice of Aro. My jaw dropped.

"James is a tracker that wished to join us quite some time ago. He was good, but not as good as Demetri. He seeks revenge. Keep the girl safe until you can bring her to join us. You are running out of time."

Albrecht closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and spoke in his own voice. "That's all. You know what to do."

Carlo sighed and rubbed his temples. "I was hoping to hive her more time," he whispered.

"You can't."

"I know. Albrecht, thank you – and I will bring you, ah, dinner later."

Albrecht nodded, and we went back to my room. Carlo shut the door and sat on my tiny cot with me.

"I'm going to answer your questions now, Mary Alice," Carlo said. He slowly slipped his dark glasses off. Part of me was completely unsurprised to see the crimson irises behind them. "These help me blend in," he said, tossing them on the bed.

"What ARE you?" I asked softly.

"Mary Alice, do you know what a vampire is?"

I shook my head mutely.

"I believe your father would have called me a demon. Devil. Something like that." He looked down. "I exist by feeding on the blood of others."

I blanched and scooted away from him.

"There is no need to worry," Carlo said, laughing softly. "I am not going to eat you. Have I ever hurt you?"

I had to admit that he hadn't.

"Mary Alice, this life was not my wish. I was human like you, once. A long time ago," he said, sighing. "I was a doctor in Florence, in the year 1641." He looked at my puzzled expression and smiled. "Florence is in Italy."

"Oh."

"I was set to marry a woman that my mother had picked for me. She was nice enough," he said, shrugging. "I was usually at the hospital, treating patients." He frowned. "We were having an epidemic. Bloodless corpses were piling up all over the place. Most of them had come from alleys, and had probably died at nighttime. I was worried about the dead bodies, and didn't feel like going home to see Gianna again, so I stupidly went at night to investigate."

"I rounded an alley, and a man jumped on me. He pinned me to the ground with a strength I'd never felt. I remember that he told me that he was going to make sure I couldn't follow him again."

Carlo hung his head. "He bit me on the neck. Right here," he said, shoving his slightly long dark hair out of the way. He revealed as crescent-shaped, puckered scar there. "He would've killed me, drank my blood, but a group of police came charging in. He fled and left me there. I was paralyzed."

I tentatively reached out to hold his cold hand, to offer whatever reassurance I could."All I remember from that point on was pain. I awoke days later… like this." He spread his pale hands. "Please don't think me a monster, Mary Alice," he said softly. "I do have to drink blood to survive, true, but I only choose my victims from those so far gone to themselves, so completely insane, that they are a true danger to others. People with no families, or with families that just don't care. They're never in short supply here. I do what I can to never take a life that was already wasted."

"Why are you telling me all this?" I said quietly.

"Because, my dear Mary Alice," he said sadly, "I must offer you a choice. You can die, or you can become like me."

I jerked back and flattened myself against the wall. "You said you wouldn't hurt me!"

"I told you the truth. I won't. But James will. Aro wants one with your talents to be one of us, one of the immortals. If James gets to you, though, you will die, painfully. You saw that. Your life will end. As your vision showed, I can't protect you all the time."

"Who is James?" I asked, still panicked.

"James is what we call a tracker. Each one of us has a special gift. Mine is that I can recognize others' gifts; it's part of the reason that I'm here. People with useful gifts often land in asylums like this. Aro's is that he can see every memory you've ever had if you allow him to touch you. James is a tracker, a hunter."

"Aro is part of our… ruling class, if you will. His group is an elite one, only allowing those with the most useful talents to join. James wanted in, and Aro said no – they already have a tracker, the best of the best. His name is Demetri, and he can find anyone, anywhere."

"James is angry now. He didn't like the rejection. He found that Aro wanted you, and in revenge, he plans to kill you before you can become one of us." He grasped my hands. "Mary Alice, I want you to become one of us, but I won't take your human life without your consent. We – I - would never do that to you. You can die if you wish, by James's hand… or you can live forever. You can live to find this blonde man of yours."

He stood. "I can only give you an hour. Time is running out." Carlo left.

I tangled my fingers into my black hair. Oh God, what was I to do?


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N – A huge thank you to CeruleanKitten, my very first reviewer and a wonderful critic. Also, a huge thank you to all of you who have put this story on your Story Alerts. It makes me very happy to know that my warped imagination is making someone happy. **

**Please – review, folks! I can't get better if I don't get constructive criticism. Bring it on. ;)**

Before I knew it, my precious time was up. I sat on my cot with my head in my hands, my eyes swollen from weeping.

Carlo came in. I lifted my eyes to his face, and saw nothing but pain and concern there. "I don't like this either," he said quietly. "I feel I have no choice. Someone as special as you shouldn't be wasted…" He sighed. "What is your decision?"

I tried to look as if I was completely sure of myself. "I don't want to die."

"So you want me to change you?"

I swallowed hard. "Yes."

"It will be painful, Mary Alice. You won't be able to escape it."

"Let's just get this over with," I said.

Carlo crossed his arms and looked pensive for a moment. "I can wait a few hours longer," he said. He came to me and picked me up as if I were light as a bird. "I want you to pretend you've passed out. Just go along with this." I nodded and slumped in his arms, my eyes shut.

Carlo carried me out of the room. It felt like he was rushing. "Get out of my way," he ordered someone. "I must get this woman to a proper hospital." He all but ran out the front door of the asylum with me in his arms. I felt a light sprinkle of rain on my forehead. Carlo shoved me into the back seat of his car, hopped in, and sped off. "It's alright now," he said cheerfully. "We're out."

I opened my eyes and sat up. "Where are you taking me?"

"I'm taking you to my house."

Surprisingly, Carlo lived in a house near the very fashionable shopping district. It was large and stately, with beautiful white columns. Inside, it was furnished with dark, glossy wood and gold. I surreptitiously pulled my filthy, tattered asylum nightdress around me tighter, and I could feel the burn of shame in my cheeks.

"Delilah!" Carlo shouted.

An older, rotund woman came hurrying down the stairs. She stopped short when she saw me. "Carlo Scarlatti," she scolded, "you bring this girl with her dirty feet into my parlor?"

"It's MY parlor, Delilah," Carlo said with a laugh. "And yes, I brought her in. No griping from you. She needs our help."

"Might be yours, but I'm the one who has to clean it," Delilah mumbled. "Now what does this poor girl need… other than a bath?"

"She needs a hot bath, and I want you to send someone out to get her clothing."

Delilah quirked an eyebrow. "And money?"

"No object. You know that."

The woman chuckled, and she led me upstairs. "Then this ought to be fun. What's your name, dear?"

"Mary Alice Brandon."

She smiled at me and led me into a bathroom, complete with large, claw-footed bathtub. She filled it with cold water, and added water that she'd already heated over a fire to it. The steaming bathtub sat there, and I simply stared at it.

My family had been rather poor. The only reason we had a car was that some tycoon that went to my father's church gave it to us after a sermon on greed. We showered outside by means of a bucket held up on a pole. I'd never seen that much hot water simply for the use of bathing a person.

Delilah must have seen the trepidation in my eyes, because her face softened. "Didn't come from a well-to-do family, did you, dear?" she asked softly. I shook my head. "Well then," she said, untying my gown. "You'll love this, I promise. It feels like heaven." She gently removed my filthy clothes. "I'll be burning these rags," she said with distaste.

I stood there naked and shivering on the cold tile. "You poor thing," Delilah said, clucking at me. "So thin… Here, dear, get in."

I slid into the bathub, gasping at the heat of it. Delilah pulled up a chair and brought out a cake of soap. "Wonderful, isn't it?" she said, smiling. She began to lather me up, and my cares seemed to melt away along with the grime that I'd accumulated.

She'd cleaned me, dried me, brushed my hair gently until it shone, and put me in a robe. Telling me that she'd be right back, Delilah hustled out of the room as Carlo entered.

"Ah," he said, smiling. "Such a beautiful girl under all that dirt. If my Gianna had looked half as pretty as you, maybe I wouldn't have been wandering in alleys. Was Delilah good to you?"

"Too good," I said. "I have been instructed not to move from this spot."

Carlo chuckled. "Well, I wouldn't go against her instructions."

"Carlo, why all this?" I asked gently.

"Because I don't want you to leave your humanity behind without experiencing a few of the good points first." His smile faded. "There's something else I need to tell you, Mary Alice."

"Hmm?"

"You won't be yourself for a while after I change you. Just expect that. The hunger for blood – it overtakes everything, and you're wild for a few years. We'll have to figure something out so that you're not discovered."

"A few years?" I said, my voice a little higher than I'd have liked. "That's – that's practically forever!"

Carlo laughed. "I'm sure it would seem so to a 19-year-old, wouldn't it? I forget so much about what it was like…" He sighed and patted my hand. "It won't feel like forever. I can promise you that."

"I trust you."

Carlo snorted. "God only knows why."

In truth, Carlo was the one person who had accepted me for who I really was, my visions notwithstanding. I'd acted completely unladylike around him. I'd had a smart mouth, cried, yelled – and all he'd done was wryly smile or chuckle at me. And when I broke down, he comforted me. Something small always died inside me in those moments, knowing that this man, this demon, showed love to me that my own parents would have balked at. Did balk at, obviously.

I leaned into his cold shoulder, and he wrapped his arms around me and left a small kiss on the top of my head. "I truly am sorry, more so than you could know," he said softly.

"It's my choice, Carlo, so stop it."

"I've always wished that I'd been able to have a child. Any daughter of mine would have been like you – a bit headstrong, spirited. I see you and I see what could have been. So instead, I make you like me. I wish I wasn't damning you to a vampire's needs."

"It's okay," I murmured. "I've made my choice. And besides… I couldn't live without knowing my blonde-haired man. I can't explain why. I just can't."

"Good thing he's one of us," Carlo said, chuckling. "He might have been dinner otherwise."

I playfully smacked him. "He would NEVER eat me."

Carlo clamped a hand over his mouth and laughed.

"Now that you mention it – why haven't I been dinner for you? You prefer older women or something?"

"No," Carlo laughed. "If I preferred older women, Delilah would have been a snack a long time ago." I giggled. "You're too precious, with your ability. And I only take the lives of those with nothing left to them, not even their sanity." He sat up straight, and his head whipped around to stare at the door. "Shh – Delilah's back."

She bustled in, carrying what looked like bundles of fabric. "Out!" she shouted at Carlo.

He winked at me and bowed to Delilah. "Yes, ma'am."

After he'd left, she laid the bundles out on the bed. They were dresses – loose, straight dresses of the day that were just beginning to come into fashion for loose women, as my father used to call them. They were utterly fashionable, and I fingered the thin, silky fabric, picturing

"I'm sorry I have to give you such clothing. This is for tarts, really – but you're so tiny, and I can't get into the seamstress today, so I thought the shorter hems would work better. Which one do you want?"

I ran my hand over one gown that was a pale gold. It faintly shimmered. "This one, please," I said, choking up. I'd not seen a dress this pretty in all my life, and I must admit to getting some pleasure from the thought of how my father would have reacted to it. I could see him, red-faced, a vein popping out from his forehead. I giggled to myself as I slid the dress over my body.

I gazed at myself in the mirror for what seemed like hours, while Delilah chatted away and tied a fabric bow over my hips. I felt as if I'd thrown out my old self with my departure from the asylum.

"Delilah," I said softly. "May I ask a favor of you?"

"Of course, child."

"Will you cut my hair?"

Delilah looked at me as if I'd asked her to toss out my firstborn. "Why would you want that?" she gasped. "Your hair's so lovely. So long, so curly – women would kill for this hair."

"Please," I implored. "Cut it. For me."

She bit her lip and grabbed scissors. "Fine," she huffed. "How much?"

"I need it short."

Delilah shook her head in disbelief. "This short?" she said, tugging on the hair at my shoulders.

"No," I said, smiling. "Short. Just longer than a boy's."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive."

The scissors clicked in the silence, and masses of my lovely black hair fell to the ground. It had been down to the bottom of my spine.

Delilah sighed in frustration. "You're not going to like this," she said. "Your curls are unruly. It looks… spiky."

I ran my hands through my hair and laughed out loud. Turning around, I gave Delilah the biggest hug I could muster. "Thank you," I whispered through tears. "Thank you so much. I feel beautiful."

She stroked my hair tenderly. "It's alright, dear. If you're happy, that's all that matters."

There was a knock on the door. Delilah yelled "come in", and Carlo entered. He smiled and took my hand, kissing the back of it. "_Che bella." _Carlo turned to Delilah. "My dear Delilah, you have done wonderfully. So wonderfully, in fact, that I'm giving you the week off."

Delilah opened her mouth to protest.

"With pay," Carlo said. "You deserve a vacation."

She frowned, looked at me, and then looked at Carlo.

"I promise that I shall do nothing to harm this poor girl's virtue," he said, laughing.

Delilah glared at him. "I'm holding you to that," she said. She turned and stomped out the door, and we followed. When she was out and Carlo confirmed that she was well away from the house, he locked the door.

"Are you ready?" he asked, softly.

I nodded.

He took my hand and led me to a bedroom with a soft velvet coverlet over a huge four-poster bed. "Lie down," he ordered. I did so, and his hand caressed the side of my face. "I am sorry for this, my daughter," he said quietly. "So sorry. May God forgive me for causing you such pain." Slowly, tenderly, he leaned down. I felt his lips at my throat, a small kiss – and then pain as his sharp teeth broke through my skin.

That's when the pain truly began.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: According to Teh Intarwebz, "affanculo" is Italian for "AAAAAAH OMGWTFBBQ **_**FUUUUCK**_**!!!" For any Italian speakers (or those who have better Google-fu than I do), if I'm wrong, leave it in the reviews, and I will change it. (Besides, who doesn't want to know how to cuss in another language, right?)**

I burned.

I burned without time, without release.

I screamed until my throat was raw.

I cried until I had no tears left.

I begged, pleaded with God. Please, God, please – take this away. Make it disappear. _Please. _I got no answer. Not from God, not from the Devil, not from anyone or anything.

My heart began trying to escape as well, but it was just as chained in as I was.

After an interminable amount of time – years, millennia, I didn't know – my heart begun to slow down. Then skip beats. Then dully thud within my chest. Then begin to stop completely.

I died.

There were no angels, no white lights, no Gates of Heaven. Just the one thing I wanted – for this pain, this horrible pain, to begin to diminish.

It bled away from my fingers, my toes, and up my arms and legs. It finally went away into nothingness, and I was able to open my eyes.

I was amazed. The air was… _alive. _I could see every dust mote floating in the light, the fluttering wings of the small insects that plagued the house. I could see every small filament of the crimson velvet coverlet on the bed.

Looking up, I found Carlo on the bed beside me. I'd always thought him handsome, but, with my new sight, I realized that he was truly beautiful. I could see the interplay of subtle dark browns, blacks, and deep reds within his irises. I could see the tiniest lines that crinkled around his eyes as he smiled down at his new creation.

"Are you alright?" he whispered.

I opened my mouth and automatically breathed in to speak – and then it hit me. The thirst. The burning, agonizing, dry thirst that clawed at my insides. My hands reached up to my throat and clawed at it.

"It's alright," Carlo murmured. "You're just thirsty. You need to feed." He opened the bedroom's door and returned with a thin, frail woman. Her stringy hair reached down to her waist, and she stared ahead with mindless eyes. He steered her to the bed, and I found myself springing at her with some sort of instinct I didn't know I had.

My teeth broke her throat immediately. I don't know whether she cried out, or felt pain; all I could comprehend was the warm, thick sweetness pouring down my throat. I sucked at the wound until there was nothing left.

"It's still there," I moaned. "Thirst… It burns…"

"I know," Carlo said. "This was all I could manage to get you when I heard your heart start slowing."

That's when I noticed the corpse beside me. I screamed in alarm and backed up on the bed.

"She can't hurt you," Carlo said in a soothing voice.

I reached out tentatively to touch the skin that was rapidly cooling, the heart that no longer beat. I felt positively monstrous. How could I have done such a thing?

If I could have cried, I would have. Instead, I let out a high, keening wail and began to rock myself.

Carlo gently lowered the woman's body to the floor and enveloped me in his arms. "It's alright," he murmured. "She'd lost her mind. I found her wandering the streets, staring like that. She was very sick, and would have been dead very soon anyway. She felt no pain when you fed. She didn't even flinch."

"Really?" I said in a strangled voice.

"Look at her," Carlo said. "I think this moment might have been the very first time in her life that she's been at peace."

The woman's features had smoothed out, that was true. Her eyes had been closed, and years had disappeared from her dirty face.

"These are the only lives we will take," he said softly. "Those who are far better off in Heaven than they are here on Earth."

"What will you do with her?"

"There is a crematorium at the asylum, in case any patient ever dies from something infectious. I will take her there."

I got off the bed and knelt. "I'm sorry," I whispered into the dead woman's ears. "Please forgive me."

Carlo patted my shoulder. "I'm sure she does."

Luckily, it was three AM. As we loaded the corpse into the doctor's car, he told me that I had been screaming for five days. Apparently, he'd had to stick his head out of his door several times, apologize for the noise, and give the excuse that his gramophone was on the fritz. He laughed and said that he was now a social pariah for all the noise, but that he only wanted to be social enough with his neighbors to invite them "over for dinner". And that, as he said I well knew, was not about to happen.

We drove to the asylum, where he directed me to stay in the car. He lifted the woman's body effortlessly, and hurried inside with her. Within a blink, he was back.

"I have a plan for you," he said, driving. "I'm taking you to a house far out in the country. You'll need to stay there, so we aren't discovered, but I will bring you your… meals. I will be there when I can. The place is said to be haunted, so if someone wanders in –"

I didn't hear anything else. A vision hit me. The vision was disturbingly real, absolutely vivid. I could feel the rage and the ice-cold fear that ran through me.

"That seemed… intense," Carlo said after I came back to reality.

"It was. It was so different from my –" My mouth hung open, and my eyes widened as a realization hit me.

"What is it?"

"I can't remember. I can't remember what my visions used to be like. I know they feel different somehow, but I can't remember them."

"It's normal to lose clarity with your previous life's memories," Carlo said kindly.

"Carlo, I can't remember! I can't remember anything! It's all black!" I began to panic. "I know my name. I know yours. But I don't remember anything!"

Carlo inhaled deeply. "How utterly ironic," he said. "The girl who can see the future has had her past erased."

"Please, tell me what you know," I begged.

"You're Mary Alice Brandon. You see visions. Your mother brought you to my asylum because of them. This is all I know."

My face fell. I felt like I'd lost something precious. Try as I might, I could not summon anything before waking up on the bed.

"From what I know of the asylum's patients, you probably are better off not remembering your previous life," he said. "I've granted you a new one. You _are _my daughter now."

I nodded, and felt better. I looked down at my gold dress, distantly feeling as if this was something new, too. "Then with a new life, I will cast off my old one. Just… call me Alice from now on. Just Alice. Make up whatever last name you wish, but… No more Mary Alice."

He nodded.

We reached the dilapidated old house, and Carlo opened the door, the breeze hit me like a fist to the stomach, and I moaned.

"_Affanculo!"* _Carlo spat. "Humans!" He automatically jumped on me, holding my struggling form to him.

Blood lust overtook me. I was no longer Alice – I was Hunger. Blind, all-consuming Hunger. I fought the steel arms that held me and dragged me toward the old, broken house. On the fringes of my mind, I heard a voice yell "Don't breathe! For the love of God, STOP BREATHING!"

The door finally slammed, and the delicious smell of the nearby humans vanished. I panted with the exertion of fighting Carlo.

Carlo looked at me sternly and told me to hold my breath. He opened a window and loudly snarled "If you value your lives, you WILL leave this place AT ONCE!"

I breathed again after the window shut. I didn't need the air, of course, but it was ingrained in me after 19 years of habit. "I'm sorry, Carlo."

"Don't be," he said, sliding down to sit on the floor. "You're a newborn. You will be completely overtaken by hunger at the first smell of any nearby human. People don't usually come to this place, which is why I've put you here."

"How long will I be like this?"

"A while." His head snapped up. "Your vision! What was it?"

"Oh!" I exclaimed. "I forgot. How could I have forgotten?" I babbled. "That was stupid of me…"

"Alice. The vision."

"It's James. He's coming."

"I take it he's quite angry," Carlo said coolly.

"Yes. You took away his revenge."

Carlo sighed. "I expected as much. It's okay, though; we're two on one. We can handle him. You're stronger than you know."

I frowned. "I don't _feel_ strong."

Carlo picked up a large rock from the floor and tossed it to me. I caught it perfectly in midair. "Squeeze this."

"I'll hurt my hand!"

He laughed. "I promise you, you won't."

To my great shock, the stone crumbled into sand and poured out of my closed palm. 'That's impossible!" I cried.

Carlo grinned and tossed me the coins in his pocket. I crushed those in my hand, melding them into a misshapen copper and silver ball. My mouth silently formed a "wow". "so what do we need to do to get James to go away?"

"Unfortunately, there's only one way to make him go away," Carlo said. "We rip him to pieces, and we burn them." It was the single most violent thing I'd heard come out of Carlo's mouth. "We have to kill him," he said regretfully. "He will not stop."

I nodded.

Outside, unbeknownst to us, James sped closer and closer with every passing second.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: This chapter is violent. VERY violent. James is what is commonly referred to as "one sick motherfucker". I apologize if this is really disturbing, but I wrote what I believed to be true to the character.**

**_____________________________________________________________________________________**

James was very, very good at what he did. He found us quickly, there in the old house, and the opening salvo in our tiny little war was unforgettable.

He'd found a human walking nearby. The woman was mercilessly thrown through the one window in the house that Carlo and I had yet to block off with boards. He'd broken her spine first, cracking it over his knee like some large branch that needed to be snapped for firewood. So she lay there on my floor, barely alive. Glass had embedded itself in her pale skin, leaving seductive ruby-red trails of blood down it. She looked up at us in terror, unable to move, unable to scream.

James knew that I wouldn't be able to control myself. He knew that this offering would be hard on Carlo as well, and we both jumped at the body, sharing it.

While my mouth gripped the poor victim's wrist and Carlo caressed her leg with his teeth, James struck.

The woman was mercifully dead by the time that James dealt a powerful blow to Carlo, making his form fly through the old wooden wall. I barely noticed; the blood lust had already overtaken me, and my entire mind was immersed in the sweet, thick blood that was slowing to a trickle. I never saw James' foot come down on the back of my neck, or the other foot immediately stamp down on the base of my spine.

I was flattened against the floor. I couldn't even thrash or fight him; my neck had broken, as had the bottom of my spine, and I was useless as the venom in my body repaired it.

Knowing that I was unable to do anything to him, he hurled himself down onto me. He laid his length on top of my small frame, crushing my midsection in a bear hug. "It's really too bad," he whispered in my ear, his breath hot on my neck. "You were such a beautiful human. I wonder how you would've tasted…"

I managed to get out a strangled "Carlo!"

"Ah, shh, my dear girl," he whispered. "Your knight in shining armor isn't here anymore. Nobody's here to protect you. It's just you and me."

I felt the last bone snap back into place. I spun around to face him, rammed my knee as hard as I could into the space between his legs, and shoved him with all my newborn strength. James flew, but somehow managed to land gracefully and catch his balance.

He cupped himself and inhaled sharply through his teeth. "You're very lucky that my mate won't get to you before I do. I may just have to torture you a little more than originally planned on her behalf for this."

I crouched, my muscles at the ready, a feral snarl ripping from my lips. Casting around, I realized that James was right. Carlo was gone. I was alone with this monster. I ripped a floorboard up and lunged at James.

"Ah, ah," he said, feinting to avoid the board's sharply splintered end. "You think I'm not fast enough?"

This time I noticed the tickling at the back of my mind. Somehow, my visions were working for me in this deadly situation. It wasn't a normal vision that I was getting – more like a split-second instinct. If I lunged again straight forward and then faked ever so slightly to the left, I would get him. I listened to this tickling, this instinct, and the board connected. It stuck out through his side.

"The little bitch has some fight in her," he snarled, wrenching the board out.

We locked ourselves into a deadly dance. Try as I might, I could not find a hole in his strategy with my gift. The rapidly repairing hole that I put in him seemed to only serve to make his senses sharper. We spun circles around the old house, but I could not find a chink in his armor.

He seemed to enjoy it. "I'm going to love ripping you apart with my bare hands," he laughed. "Oh, God, just the feel of it, taking your tiny body apart sinew by sinew. Bone by bone. And do you know what I'm going to do with you, once I've got you heaped in a pile? I'm going to keep you from putting yourself back together, and I'm going to set you on fire in the public square in Volterra."

More dancing, more concentration on his moves. "Aro won't let you live."

"Aro won't be able to find me."

"From what I hear, they've got a tracker who's miles better than you."

"Nobody is better than me!" he roared. "Nobody! The Volturi will regret rejecting me! I'm going to take their little prize," he shouted furiously, "and I'm going to demolish you right under their noses!"

His fury gave me an opening. I launched at him and knocked him to the floor. Snarling, my teeth connected to his arm, and I spat a head-sized chunk of hard flesh onto the floor.

Once again, the pain just seemed to make him realize his mistakes. He changed strategy.

"I know where your blonde friend is. I had to find him once I overheard that you knew who your mate would be."

I reeled back in shock. In that moment, he flipped me and pinned me to the floor. "Mmm. As thrilling as defying the Volturi would be, maybe I should be leaving your naked pieces on his doorstep." He slahed at my chest with his hands, leaving my skin exposed and deeply gashed. "Can't you just imagine that?" he murmured, tearing at my stomach. "I could leave him a little note. 'Dear Mr. Whitlock…'" he said, laughing evilly.

I couldn't help but stop struggling and snapping at him for an instant. _Whitlock. His last name is Whitlock._

"Dear Mr. Whitlock," he continued, smiling at my shock. "These are the breasts that should've been yours to play with." He ripped at my torso again, leaving my chest a mass of tattered shreds. He grabbed a piece of glass. "These legs should have been yours." He split my thighs down to the bone as I screamed. "These are the burned pieces of the one woman in this entire world that you could have loved, the one woman who would have stayed with you forever and put up with your whiny, masochistic ass." He took the glass shard and severed my arm at the shoulder. "Oh God," he purred, his eyes rolling back in his head. "Oh, that thought just does things to me. Your poor lover, left with no one, hating himself for all eternity, and all because of the Volturi." I continued to scream at the top of my lungs as I lost my other arm. "He'll never know the joys of the love of a woman," he snarled. "Ever. Poor, pitiful, miserable Mr. Whitlock."

A wind blew across my face then, and I realized that James had been slammed against a wall. I tried to ignore my mutilated torso, looking past it – to see Carlo. He'd come back, my protector. I launched myself at James's back as Carlo attacked, forgetting that I lacked the arms to do anything with.

"Put them back on!" Carlo screamed.

"What? Put what back on?"

"Your arms!"

I ran over to my twisted, twitching limbs and threw myself down on the ground next to them. Amazingly, they slipped right back to where they were supposed to go, as if I'd had strong magnets within my shoulders the whole time. I could feel every muscle, every bone reattach.

Carlo bit furiously at James, trying to hold him back. "Run, Alice! _RUN_!"

Leave Carlo? How could I do that? I threw my small self at him one more time.

Those few microseconds, coupled with Carlo's demand for me to run, gave James just the edge he needed. As I screamed yet again, I watched my beloved Carlo ripped apart.

I threw myself at James yet again, but he was more than prepared for this. He rammed his fist into my spine, breaking it yet again. In the few minutes that it took my vampiric body to put myself back together and regain movement, he'd produced matches and flung them down at the writhing mass of Carlo's limbs.

I watched, paralyzed, as Carlo burst into flames as if he'd been doused in gasoline first.

I couldn't cry. That particular part of immortality made me want, at that moment, to fling myself onto this hastily made pyre with him.

Carlo was gone. My friend. My protector. My guide. My… father.

I numbly stumbled out of the house as it, too, burst into flames. I didn't resist when I felt James, arms close around me in a vise grip.

"Daddy is dead now," he murmured in my ear. "And maybe, after I kill you, I'll go feast on your human family as well. All this does work up quite an appetite."

"Stop."

A voice rang out. It was clear, loud, and commanding. Looking to the side, I found Albrecht standing there, his pale fists clenched by his side. The voice wasn't his, though; it belonged to Aro.

"Ah, you decided to come watch the show! Couldn't get here in time, hmm, Aro?"

"You will stop this now." The command was stronger. The veins at Albrecht's temples bulged with the effort.

James laughed. "What are you going to do from here, Aro? Send your mouthpiece to fight? Your young, soft weakling of a mouthpiece? I can kill him just as easily as I killed Carlo, and you know that."

"You have two choices," Aro said through Albrecht, as he stepped forward decisively. "She or Albrecht dies, and I will send the full force of the Volturi after you. You have already broken our rules and killed one of my inner circle. You WILL die for that, I assure you."

"Kill these children of mine, and Jane will torture you for eons before you die by fire. Every gift for pain that I have at my disposal – and I assure you, they are many – will be used, at length. I have people who make Jane look like a spring day."

Albrecht took another decisive step. James snarled.

"So you are left with two choices: Kill these two, and die slowly and painfully. And after we kill you, we will kill your mate. Your friends. Your entire coven, in the same manner."

A small whisper of "Victoria…" escaped James's lips.

Aro-Albrecht continued. "Leave them, and I will let you play your beloved game before we kill you. You may dodge my trackers as long as you like, but you will still die for what you have done. I will allow a quick death, and I will leave your wife alive."

Albrecht lowered his head, and his crimson glare bore into James. He walked forward, each step in stone, until he was an inch from me and James. "Choose. We move towards you even now, en masse. A slow, painful death lasting millennia now, or a quick death later. I do hope you choose the second, as I have far more important things to take care of right now than some pathetic tracker with a grudge." Albrecht paused. "On second thought," Aro said through him, a violent smile spreading across his face, "I do hope you choose the first. I would so like to hear you scream."

"Choose your manner of death. We are coming to you, even now."

James cursed, and suddenly the pincer-like arms left me. He was gone, just like that.

I collapsed to the ground, and the viselike grip of James was replaced with the kind arms of Albrecht. "It's okay," he said in his own soft voice. "James is gone. Aro, Caius, and Marcus are coming. They're going to take us back to Volterra, where nobody will hurt you."

There was a sudden burst of heat on my face, and I looked towards the still-burning house. A high, keening wail escaped my lips.

Albrecht laid his head on mine tenderly. "A long time ago, when my people were just tribes, they would give a funeral pyre to the most important, the war chiefs. The chief's spirit would be given to Odin, the All-Father. Everyone would come together and watch the pyre burn, and tell stories of the great chief's life." He smiled faintly. "If Carlo had to leave us, I cannot think of a more fitting burial for him. This honors his spirit."

He took a deep breath as the flames shot higher, and continued in a voice almost too soft to hear.

"Let a mound be raised for those departed; let their hands and head be washed, combed, and wiped dry, ere in the coffin they are laid: and pray for their happy sleep." He closed his eyes reverently. "Sleep well, my friend."

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Further Author's Notes:

This chapter was HARD to write. According to canon, James did come after Alice. The tough part was that he had to survive for another 80-odd years, so that he could come after Bella later and be killed by the Cullens. This was my solution. I hope it worked. (It certainly explains Alice dancing around the flames as he burned, doesn't it?)

On James: I must admit that, more than the book's portrayal of James, I was inspired by Cam Gigandet's performance in the film. It was the way that he stopped at the tree that Rosalie had ground Bella's jacket into, the way that he inhaled Bella's scent almost orgasmically. I could see that, for James, the hunt and the kill is better than sex. In fact, it probably does give him some twisted sexual energy. I could see him completing a kill and slinking off to Victoria. No "Hi, honey, I'm home!" Just slamming himself into her like a Viking back from a village raid, no words, just feral need.

The prayer that Albrecht whispers at the end is real; it was taken from something called the Edda, from when the Germans were a group of loosely aligned tribes. I thought it beautiful and fitting.

**As always, I would love to hear your thoughts on this chapter. It's definitely a first for me. Reviews make FANTASTIC Christmas presents!**


	7. Chapter 7

Albrecht wrapped one arm around my shoulders in a kind gesture. Just like what Carlo would have done, had he been there.

_Oh God, _ I thought, _Carlo… I did this to him, it's all my fault…_

"Stop it, Alice," Albrecht said. "I don't have to be a mind-reader to know that you're torturing yourself over this. It's not your fault. The Volturi might have rejected him, but it doesn't mean that he wasn't good at what he did. In fact, I was surprised that you both weren't killed." I looked at him in consternation and began to open my mouth to retort. "I'm not trying to tell you you're a bad fighter, you silly girl."

"So, Albrecht – what do we do now? I have nowhere to hide. And I'm afraid," I whined. "People come here, and if they do, I can't control myself! I just can't. I don't want to kill."

"Don't you worry. Aro will be here soon, and we'll be going back to Volterra. Until then… I hate to do this, but we'll have to use Carlo's house as a hideout. We can't go back to the asylum, not without making people ask questions."

My eyebrows rose in alarm. "But, Albrecht – what about Delilah?"

"Delilah? Who's that?"

"Carlo's housekeeper. She should be back by now, or back soon. When Carlo and I left, he told her she had a week off with pay."

"Hm. Well – I guess we just find a way to keep her out." He walked me toward Carlo's car. "Let's get in. Don't breathe until we get there and are inside."

We made our way back to Carlo's house. I stayed in the back, curled up, my hands over my ears. I didn't want to breathe, and I didn't want to even hear the normal human sounds. I kept the thirst at bay as best as I could.

We walked in to the house, and I finally took a mouthful of air after we shut the door. Albrecht and I confirmed that Delilah was still not there, and we began to explore the house. Albrecht finally found a large ring of keys, and I'd found an almost-hidden door on the bottom floor. It was locked, and we fiddled with the keys until we found the right one.

Carlo had been smart; he'd prepared a large room underneath the house. It had no windows, and the only humans that could be heard were any that might be trespassing above. The walls were lined with bookcases, and the shelves were packed untidily. A table rested in the middle, and a comfortable-looking chaise longue lay against the wall. Open books littered the table, and little drips of cooled wax lay pooled under the extinguished candelabra.

Albrecht locked the door behind us. "Perfect," he said happily. "It shouldn't take too much more time for everybody to come here. I've already let them know where we are."

I frowned. "Everyone? Who is everyone?"

Albrecht chuckled. "Not as many people as James was led to believe. God, 'we're coming en masse'… Aro can be so dramatic at times." He smiled wryly. "Aro is not even coming himself. There's no need. He's sending Jane, Alec, Demitri, and Chelsea. Hardly 'en masse'," Albrecht said, grinning.

"Okay – so, who are they?"

"Jane and Alec are twins. Jane has a gift for giving pain..." Albrecht looked at my expression and laughed. "No, she's not going to hurt you. She was there in case James didn't buy Aro's whole 'We're coming, all of us, we swear!' thing." He wiggled his fingers and said that in a spooky voice, and I couldn't help but laugh.

"Alec's interesting. He can completely immobilize someone. He works almost as an anesthetic. Demitri is the tracker, and he's there in case James decided to try and hurt you, too. Damn good fighter, the best," he mused. "Chelsea…" He opened his mouth and closed it several times, unsure of what to say. "Chelsea is something of a calming agent, if you will. I'm not really at liberty to speak about what her gift really is. Calming agent will work just fine for now."

"Are they nice?" I said, timidly.

Albrecht laughed. "I wouldn't call Jane 'nice', really. Just try and stay on her good side. And Alec is pretty much like his gift. He looks eternally apathetic, like he's been anesthetized himself. Demitri's a decent enough man, but do NOT bother him when he's working." He sighed. "And yes, I think you'll find Chelsea nice."

We sat in silence after that. I hugged my knees on the chaise and wondered what would happen to me. "Albrecht?"

"Yes?"

"What do we do about food? I'm still very thirsty," I said in a small voice.

Albrecht pursed his lips and thought for a little while. "Let's wait until well after nightfall. I can probably sneak up on the asylum and bring a few people here."

We settled into a routine. I perused Carlo's many books, marveling over the pictures, and running my fingers over the unfamiliar letters. Albrecht took a few and translated them from Italian for me, and I would happily sit next to him, my head on his shoulder. He'd read them to me – Carlo's beloved tales of swords, of knights, of ladies fair. Other books were on medicine, or were very old books on vampire legends.

At night, Albrecht would sneak off and bring a pair of asylum patients with him. They were usually dirty and glassy-eyed; they were awake, but completely pliant. Their faces never registered surprise or pain as we bit into their tender skin. Albrecht would remove the bodies afterward. He weighted them and threw them in a nearby creek.

Delilah did come back, but left again. On the first day, Albrecht faked a letter from Carlo, telling Delilah that her services were no longer needed, and that she was to leave the premises immediately. Albrecht didn't seem to have the same ideas about food that Carlo had had; he thought Delilah would make an easy meal, but I begged him not to. I couldn't ever forgive myself, I told him, if the woman who had been so kind to me became my victim. Exasperated with my begging, he finally gave in and left her the letter and all the cash he could find in the house. Delilah took the cash, muttered something ending in "bastard", and left for good.

After an unknown length of time, there was finally a knock at the basement door. I sprang up, my muscles on alert, ready for a fight. Albrecht laughed and pushed me back down onto the chaise. "No fight today, little one. That's the Volturi."

He unlocked the door, and the four people came in. "Let's go already," Jane said sourly. Alec looked on passively.

"Oh, always so grumpy," the woman on the far end laughed. "Alice, dear, I'm Chelsea. I'm very glad to meet you, and Aro sends his relief that we are finding you well. This is Demitri," she said, pointing toward the towering man beside her, who smiled and nodded. "That's Jane and Alec." Jane rolled her eyes, and Alec stared impassively.

It was the oddest thing. Jane had the warmth of a glacier, and her brother Alec was only very slightly better – but still like a lukewarm puddle of water. The kind that you stepped in by surprise and then spent the next five minutes going "eww" over. Demitri hadn't yet spoken and seemed a bit antsy.

Yet, somehow, I felt drawn to all of them. I really, really wanted to be a part of this little group, and for the life of me, I couldn't figure out why. I shook my head to clear it, and the feeling still stayed. Albrecht looked at me, looked at Chelsea, and rolled his eyes.

Jane snapped her fingers. "Come on, people, we have a train and a boat to catch."

Albrecht frowned. "Is that really a good idea?"

"Just because I can run across continents doesn't mean I want to. Do you know how much of a pain it is to get here from Volterra _quickly?_ We're taking our time getting back. And on boats and trains, we can lock newborn here in the room and not cause a panic. I refuse to run across America AND Europe holding back some newborn with a control problem. This time, we go in comfort."

Albrech sighed heavily. "Whatever you want, Jane."

We were lucky it was past midnight; no humans were out – well, none of the sober and clean variety, anyway. We took two cars to a railway station, and we were all bundled into a beautiful first-class car, which we had to ourselves. I heard Jane imperiously tell a staffer that we were not to be disturbed unless we rang for something.

The trip to New York was really rather tortuous for me. I had no choice on food; I would have much rather stuck with Carlo's ideas, that I was only to take life when the life was no longer worth living. Unfortunately, on this voyage, that was not to be.

We had human food delivered, so that nobody would suspect anything. They did, of course, by the end of the weeklong trip. We'd killed either passengers or serving staff at every new stop, and tossed their bodies onto the railroad tracks once the train got up to speed. I spent the trip wishing that I could cry, and praying for forgiveness from the poor souls that we'd killed. Nobody seemed to care but Albrecht.

I found myself hating the idea of the ocean voyage that we had a first-class cabin on, because I knew it would be more of the same. I was on the RMS Olympic, sister to the infamous Titanic, and I should have been happy. I should have been awestruck by the beauty of the ship, by the swells of the ocean, by the beautiful people walking underneath our window. I couldn't be, though. Not when Jane dressed as an upper-class lady and lured the belowdecks passengers upstairs. She promised free food, or entrance to an expensive party – free drinks for all! – and they came. They came by the dozen sometimes. And in each instance, they died.

The lowest-class passengers were starting to revolt by the time the ship berthed at Southampton. I'd seen this, and warned the group; the bodies were sneaked onto different spots on the ship, and the ship's physicians either ruled the deaths as accidents or alcohol-related. Nobody on the ship was about to put a full investigation into the deaths of the ship's poorest denizens.

We traveled by trains and cars through lands that I didn't even know the names of. I heard beautiful, exotic accents, with soft, flowing sounds. Albrecht became very excited as we passed through Germany, and he spent long hours telling me about what it was like in his homeland when he was human. He wasn't very old, for a vampire, but knew his beloved country's history by heart and was more than happy to share it.

After what seemed like forever, we finally reached our destination. A group of people in long, hooded cloaks met us, and asked us to garb ourselves in the same. We were led through narrow, lamp-lit streets, buildings, and down many flights of stairs, and into a subterranean wonder. I was led through cave-like halls, and into the presence of Aro and two men who I didn't know – but who looked equally as ancient.

"Ah, Alice!" Aro said happiliy, embracing me. "I'm so glad to see you safe and sound. I trust your journey was a good one?"

I looked down, and Jane cut in "She's got some food issues."

"Not surprising," he said, still smiling. "She learned everything she knew under Carlo. He didn't like taking what he saw was unnecessary life." He patted my shoulder. "You will get over it in time." He turned to his cohorts. "Alice, this is Caius," he said motioning to one. Caius nodded in greeting. "And this is Marcus." Marcus simply looked at me. "Alice, consider this your home now, this family your family."

I wasn't paying very much attention, and was still stuck on Aro's claim that I'd "get over it in time". Why? Why would I have to if I didn't want to?

"But I don't want to get over it," I protested quietly. The room fell silent.

"I'm sorry?"

"I don't want to kill. I don't want to be a monster."

Aro laughed as if I was a toddler who had done something cute. "Oh, don't you worry, my dear," he said patronizingly. "You will come to understand. Humans are our food source; they are our beasts of burden. We are better, are we not? Stronger, faster..."

"Better looking," put someone in the dark recesses of the room, to general laughter.

"We're better predators, dear. It's survival of the fittest, and we are the fittest." He smiled. "Now, we're not gluttons, not by any stretch of the imagination. We protect the people above us, and in return, we reduce their numbers by a bit every now and then. It's not so much of the villagers, really. We get tourists, mostly. People who just aren't smart enough to see that the villagers here don't really believe that there is an underground shrine here sacred to St. Marcus." He smiled again. "Now that you're a part of our family, I promise you, you will get used to it in no time at all."

Aro gave Chelsea a pointed look, and she came over and took my hand.

I fought against the warm feelings that I somehow knew weren't right. "But, Aro – what if I don't want to be part of your family? What will you do to me?"

"Why, nothing, child," he said in a fatherly voice. "Everyone who is here chooses to be here."

I smelled the humans coming down the hall a split second before I heard them, and the blood lust took over.

"Ah!" Aro said, clapping his hands together. "Dinner has arrived."


	8. Chapter 8

**A humongous hug and thank you to all of my readers and reviewers. Thank you all for your patience, too… I know you want to see Jasper (and so do I!), but I wouldn't be telling the story right if I rushed toward him. Your patience will pay off VERY soon. **

I had to feed; there was no way around that. I had no choice but to take the innocent lives that the Volturi lured down into their subterranean maze. Even if I had a choice in the matter, I still had very little control over my own hunger. I was grateful, at the very least, that Alec anesthetized the prey. Nobody wanted panicked humans running around the maze screaming. Well, almost nobody – but Jane got overruled on that particular wish.

Aro sensed my unease, and made Chelsea my companion at all times. She was a nice enough person, but I still couldn't understand why he ordered her to stay by me. It took a full year of living among the Volturi for me to get a moment alone.

I decided to make the most of it. I hunted down Albrecht within the labyrinthine corridors, and dragged him into a small room. I shut the door and locked it. (Upon recalling this, I'm amused at myself. Locking a door to keep millennia-old vampires out? I might as well have threatened to hurt one with a toothpick.)

I wasted no time. "Albrecht, I need to know what is going on, and I need to know right now." I stamped my foot for emphasis like a child.

Albrecht's pale features and long, near-white eyelashes were well-practiced at feigning innocence. 'What do you mean, Alice dear?"

"You know exactly what I mean. Why has Aro ordered Chelsea to stick by my side like some Siamese twin?"

Albrecht bit his lip.

I sighed. "I won't tell anyone. I just want to know."

"You're going to get me in a ton of trouble if they find out I told you."

"Told me what? Please, Albrecht… Please, tell me. This is killing me," I pleaded.

He sighed and put his face in his hands. "_Mein Gott,_" he growled. "You tiny little thing, batting your eyelashes at me and pouting… You are going to be the death of me. You know that, right?"

I'd won this battle. I squealed and grabbed Albrecht's face, planting a kiss on his cheek.

He looked up at me as if he couldn't decide whether to roll his eyes or laugh. "Alright. Chelsea is one of Aro's most prized talents. She strengthens bonds."

"Strengthens bonds?"

"Let me guess. Part of you feels as if you belong here somehow, and part of you is fighting that. Am I right?"

"Yes," I said, breathlessly.

"Chelsea takes your wish to be a part of something, your gratitude for us saving you from James and taking you out of Mississippi, and she makes it stronger. Bigger. Aro talks a lot about how everyone is in Volterra by choice, but her gift makes it harder for anyone to leave."

I sat down, shocked. My emotions were being manipulated. I felt… dirty. I drew my knees up and hugged them.

Albrecht sighed and patted my shoulder. "I know it's a nasty trick. But please, understand – Chelsea's not a bad person. She was brought out of an awful situation by the Volturi, so she does what she can with her gift to help them. And I will tell you that you can decide to leave here. They won't stop you. They'll turn Chelsea up as far as she can go, but if you can fight that, you can leave."

"Where would I go?" I said in a small voice.

Albrecht sighed yet again. "I don't know, _liebchen_. That is a problem. You cannot encroach upon their territory. And they'll keep tabs on you, with you being so new." He hesitated for a minute. "You could try and follow your blonde man."

I put my face in my knees. "I don't know where he is."

"Well, then maybe you should work on your gift."

That made me perk up. "Work on it? How? It just comes when it wants to."

"Everybody's gift is a struggle at first. We all work that way. But the more you try, the more control you'll have. If you work on it, I'm sure that you'll be able to start seeing things when you want to. "

"Really?" I said excitedly.

Albrecht smiled. "Yes. Really."

I spontaneously hugged him, hard. "Albrecht, thank you…"

"For what?"

"For putting up with me, mostly," I said.

He laughed at that. "You're not that hard to put up with. In fact, you're quite amusing to be around."

"I just… I'm grateful to have had your friendship. All I had was Carlo, and he's gone."

Albrecht leaned his head onto mine. "I know. It's okay." There was silence for a minute. "You're leaving, aren't you?"

"Yes."

"I can't come with you. I'm sorry."

"I know."

We stayed like that for some time, me leaning against him, his head resting gently on the top of mine. I had tried and failed to verbally express how grateful I was for Albrecht's friendship; somehow, though, this simple contact was doing the job that words couldn't.

"I knew you would leave, sooner or later," Albrecht said suddenly. "I went ahead and set you up. If you go back to Mississippi, and go back to the main bank there, you'll find that you're listed there as Alice Scarlatti, Carlo's widow. You have access to all his money, so you won't want for anything. He would've wanted it that way."

I squeezed his hand. "Thank you, Albrecht… for everything."

He simply smiled in response.

I marshaled my courage and went to speak to Aro, Marcus, and Caius. Chelsea was there, meeting with them, and I felt the false wave of "belonging" hit. I balled my fists, shut my eyes tightly, and fought against it with everything I had.

"Aro," I said slowly, forcing out every word, "I need to talk to you."

"Later," he said dismissively.

"No. Now."

Aro raised an eyebrow at my presumption. "What is it, then, that is so important that it cannot wait?"

I breathed deeply. "I'm leaving."

I didn't see Aro motion to Chelsea, but I did feel Chelsea double her efforts. "Are you sure about that?"

My response was one word, but it was the hardest word I'd ever had to speak. "Yes."

"You must really have your mind set on this, then."

"Yes." I breathed a sigh of relief as Aro called off Chelsea. My whole body relaxed in an instant.

"Well, we will be sorry to see you go, but we will not force you to stay. You must know a few things, though – you must not be discovered by humans. You will not encroach upon our territory. You must not create an immortal child. You must not create an army of newborns." (That one puzzled me. Why would I want to?) "If you are found guilty of any of these things, you will be destroyed. Do you understand?"

I nodded. "Where… Where should I go?"

Aro shrugged. "Anywhere you like, as long as you do not break our few rules." He got closer and encased my small hand in his. "I hope you will reconsider, Alice," he said softly. "If you decide you would like to join us, we will always be here." He snapped his fingers. "Oh! I know where to send you. Seek out a vampire by the name of Carlisle Cullen. I think you'll get along quite well with him. He has a… quirk about his food, same as you. He only takes the blood of animals."

"That's possible?"

"Ugh. Yes. It doesn't compare, mind you."

"Where is this Carlisle person?"

"I don't know. You'll have to locate him on your own." He sighed. "As I said before, we are sad to lose you – but we'll always be here. Chelsea will guide you out of the city. Mind that you do not stop on the way out for a meal. I don't take kindly to poachers."

I nodded, and Chelsea immediately led me out. As we got into the chill night air, she gave my shoulder a slight squeeze. "I'm sorry you weren't happy. I tried."

I gave her a small smile. "I know. It's okay."

Years passed in the blink of an eye.

I made my way back to Mississippi, avoiding all humans as I went. I stopped there only to clear out Carlo's bank account, and went back to New York from there.

I loved New York with a passion – especially the bustling, busy hive that was New York City. I couldn't stay there, of course, but resolved to spend more time there when my control over my hunger increased. I stopped only to put half of Carlo's money into an investment bank there.

I was intrigued by the idea that one of our kind could survive on the blood of animals. I remember the first time I tried it, attacking a deer that was prancing through the woods. It smelled… unwashed, if you will. Gamey. Sweaty. Too musky. I drank its blood anyway. It filled me, and abated my hunger a bit, but I do remember the taste – ugh! It was like switching from the sweetest, richest wine to some swill that was made by a backwoods hick in a shed.

After six months, I made the interesting discovery that my ruby-red eyes were beginning to change color. The crimson threads in my irises were beginning to be joined by small bits of a golden color. I wore glasses always, as the overall effect was that of a small, orange-eyed pixie – amusingly demonic to me, but disconcerting for humans (to say the least).

I did my best to only feast on large game. Most of the time, it worked. The times that it didn't, I begged the corpse's forgiveness and sat next to it, rocking on my heels, until the sobbing that I couldn't do was over. No life taken by me ever went unmourned.

I paid a company to build me a small, very secure house in the northern Appalachian mountains. There I stayed for quite some time.

I learned.

I learned to control my hunger. When I felt up to it, I would test my resolve by making jaunts out to the fashionable shops in New York City. I danced through the streets the day that I realized I was more concerned with getting a beautiful dress that hung in the window than I was with trying to keep the sales staff alive. I danced and twirled, laughing out loud when I discovered that I could do this, ignoring the whispers and outright stares that displaying my pleasure caused.

I learned to sharpen my visions. I spent years in my tiny house, concentrating, tensing myself until I shook. Try as I might, I could never get a true lock on that Cullen man's location. I saw flashes here and there that I made appear through will, but it was never anything significant. I generally saw him mastering his will not to kill a patient. I was both awed and tickled pink by the fact that this vampire, this killing machine, apparently spent all his time healing humans!

Unfortunately, my attempts to find the mysterious Mr. Whitlock did not end well, either. I got flashes here and there when I really focused – but not the much-desired whereabouts of his person. No matter how hard I tried, I don't think I could've gotten that information back then anyway. Every time I saw him, he was in a new place. He had two companions, one male vampire and one female vampire, and they wandered endlessly.

I also discovered a new toy – the New York Curb Exchange. This would change its name in 1953 to the American Stock Exchange, and it was a game that I always won. And I do love winning games…

Carlo's money, through my careful manipulations, exponentially increased. I became a very, very rich woman… and all through practice of my gift. I had so much that I gave quite a bit away. I did enjoy that; I learned early on that charities could be corrupt, and instead decided to distribute my wealth myself. I'd stroll through bad neighborhoods, spying on the people, trying to find the families that were essentially good. I loved the families with loads of children that were struggling – and I loved the looks on their faces when my knock sounded at the door, and upon opening it, all they found was more money on their doorstep than they ever thought they'd see.

I existed in this way, not unhappily, until 1938. I finally felt in control of myself, and had gone to Europe just in time for war to break out yet again.

In 1940, Hitler invaded Paris. I was quite grumpy that Adolf Hitler's grand, twisted plans had interrupted the fashion houses in Paris, so I went and did something about it. (Yes, I know. I'm a tad bit vain. You do not get between me and a good Chanel dress.) I'd come to adore this city, with its firm grasp on so many kinds of beauty. Everything was art there; I spent what time I could bear in the company of painters, poets, writers, dreamers… I even modeled for a young, sweet painter once. Nude. My only request was that he do it by candlelight, after dark.

I hope Emmett never finds that painting. He'll never stop teasing me. He probably won't find it, though; as beautiful as that man's work was, he never really took off with mainstream culture. My portrait is probably hanging in someone's boudoir, or gathering dust in an attic somewhere. I'll have to go find it sometime…

Where was I? Yes. The war. World War II.

When Hitler invaded my beloved Paris in 1940, I had no choice but to defend it. The German and Italian soldiers began to pass on whispers of an "Angel of Death" within the city.

I could do nothing openly either before or after France's occupation by Italy and Germany; I did not want to risk the wrath of the Volturi, as I knew it would be swift and fierce. So I took to dressing my tiny frame in widow's black, hiding my features behind a veil, and wandering the occupied streets at midnight.

If I found a Nazi that had wandered away from the fold, he died by my hand. I kept to my animal diet, no matter how badly I was tempted. I would crush the man's bones, but leave his thick, sweet blood pooling on the street.

I do not claim to have decimated entire squadrons. I simply did what I could, when I could, without getting caught. I did this until the last stragglers were gone in late 1944, after D-Day. Ah, those liberating American soldiers; so young, so handsome, so puffed up with pride… The French women loved them for it.

I felt terrible when I heard about the concentration camps. I wished I'd focused my gifts more on the Nazis; I berated myself for not doing so, not being able to see that these people were suffering. Carlo's voice sounded in my mind, reminding me that I would not have been able to save many anyway, not without bringing the Volturi down on my head.

Now and then, in those war years, I thought of Albrecht. I knew the agony he must be in, seeing the proud, strong legacy of the German people being buried under the legacy of a monster. I knew he was in pain, and I wished I could comfort him. And maybe that's part of why I picked off German soldiers; I was not about to allow those who would sully Albrecht's pride so horribly to live.

I gloried in the rebuilding of Paris, funneling as much money as I could into it. People joke today about the French being born knowing how to say "we surrender", but it couldn't have been farther from the truth. They never surrendered their unique spirit, and they never surrendered their will to make their beloved Paris a more beautiful lady than she had been before. I delighted in her reconstruction.

And then, in 1948, while practicing, I got what I had been searching for for so long.

A vision.

Betty's Diner. Philadelphia.

My heart awaited me there.

**A/N – I am, unfortunately, not a WWII scholar. I hope I got things right with the cursory study I did and the small bit of knowledge that I have; if I didn't, I am very sorry. I mean no disrespect.**

**Ladies and gentlemen, I hope you realize what's coming next chapter. If not - *lovingly bonks you on the head with a clue-by-four***

**I have spoken to the Cullen boys, and they have offered free kisses in exchange for reviews. So read, review, and pucker up, buttercup!**


	9. Chapter 9

**Here it is, folks – the chapter you've been bugging me for. (I'm pretty happy to write it, myself.) I hope this meets your expectations. **

I was finally here. I knew that Mr. Whitlock – my blonde man – wouldn't be here at Betty's Diner for another few minutes, so I took the time to review myself in the bathroom mirror.

I knew I looked good; I'd made sure I did. It was confirmed when I walked by the men on the street and heard low whistles. It was confirmed even more when I walked past the women and heard whispered, catty comments between them that a human's hearing couldn't have picked up. I mentally reminded myself that a smug smile was not what I should be greeting this long-awaited man with.

My dress was short-sleeved and black. It was cinched in the middle with a red belt to show off my little waist, and the skirt was fitted to my thighs. Most women were still wearing skirts that stood up with petticoats, and ended about an inch below the knee. There were lots of innocent plaids and ginghams. Not me; I was positively scandalous. My daring black skirt ended two inches above my knee. On a woman who wasn't 4 feet 10 inches, wearing this in public would've ended in the poor lady being dragged into the nearest church and getting a stern talking-to. On me, well… People weren't about to give ME a talking-to, least of all a priest. Can't imagine why.

I checked my Victory Red lipstick – good. Mascara above golden eyes, check. No smudges. Red heels, check. Rose tucked behind an ear, check. I took a deep breath, closed my eyes for a second, and came back out of the restroom. I perched myself on one of the bar's high stools, where I'd have a perfect view of the door.

"That's quite an outfit you got there, missy," the bartender said, clearly amused.

"Thanks. "

"You meeting someone?"

"Yep, I am," I answered brightly. "He should be here soon."

The kindly bartender smiled. "Boyfriend? Or soon-to-be boyfriend?"

"The latter… I hope."

He chuckled again. "Honey, in that dress, I don't think the President of the United States himself could resist you."

I giggled nervously. "That was the aim."

Suddenly, the door opened, and I caught a new scent. Slightly stringent and cool, but somehow still warm… Like freshly cut grass. This was not a human scent. "Wish me luck," I said to the bartender, before spinning around in my seat to face the door.

There he was. My breath caught in my throat. Had my heart been moving, it would be trying to escape my chest.

He was quite tall – at least 6 feet. Probably more. That's a decent height for a normal girl, but for me, that's mountain climbing. His slightly wavy, honeyed hair was exactly as I'd pictured it. I longed to run my fingers through it, but I figured that would be yet another bad thing to start out with.

His build was lean, but firm – the physique of a man who was well-accustomed to some physical labor, but who didn't obsess over it. Over his lean body, he'd thrown a simple, worn button-down shirt that could have possibly been white at some time, and a pair of beaten-up tweed pants. Well-used, brown leather boots peeked out from under the pants' hem.

His head was lowered, and I couldn't see his eyes. His shoulders were tense and tight, and his hands were jammed in his pockets. The overall effect was that of a man who was stressed, angry, sad – and running from something. I wanted nothing more than to wrap this poor soul in my arms and hold him until he smiled.

He caught my scent, and looked up in alarm. He was obviously freaked out to see another of our kind here, in this empty diner.

I put the warmest smile I could on my face and hopped down from the stool. "You've kept me waiting a long time," I said, my smile pulling up at one corner a bit mischievously.

His eyes widened, and he suddenly remembered his manners. "Sorry, ma'am," he said, dipping his head.

I laughed out loud. How adorable. Here he was, just having met some crazy little sprite in this dive of a bar, whose name he doesn't know, who could have been sent by the Volturi for all he knows – and he's _sorry_ that he kept me waiting!

The laugh threw him off balance just enough for him to realize that I wasn't a threat. He still looked at me with an incredibly puzzled expression, but he relaxed his body a bit.

I slowly reached out one hand to him, palm up. I willed into that hand every dream I'd had over the decades, every wish for companionship and love that had ever made me wish I could cry at three AM. Every single bit of longing I'd felt while stuck in my little house, playing visions of him over and over in my head, I willed into that little, outstretched hand.

It was an invitation. _Come with me. Live with me. _Really_ live. Love me. Let me heal you. And while you're at it, you can heal me._

We stared at each other, red and gold, for an interminable amount of time. Seconds felt like lifetimes.

My hand stayed out.

And slowly, as the barest of smiles played across his full lips, he took it. Tentatively, at first, but he then enclosed it fully, as if to say, "If I'm going to do this, I might as well throw myself in completely."

I smiled brilliantly, and I had yet another moment where I wished I could cry. Happy tears, relieved tears.

I closed the distance between us, and gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. "Let's get out of here," I whispered. "I have a place a little while north of here. It's not too far if we run. No… interference." My beautiful mystery man nodded assent, and I dug in my purse. Tossing a bill toward the kindly bartender, I then walked, hand in hand, with my blonde man toward the door. I didn't stop when the bartender discovered that I'd given him a $100.

We found our way out of Philadelphia and started running when we could. There was no talking; for one thing, it's hard to do when you're going 200 miles an hour, and for another… it could wait. I think we both needed the time to mentally process our meeting.

Before we knew it, we stood in front of my modest house. I sniffed; there were no humans around. I opened the door and invited him in. With a sheepish smile and eyes darting around everywhere nervously, he entered.

I sat on the couch, and he sat on an opposite chair. The tension, the nervousness in the room was absolutely palpable.

"I'll start," I said cheerily, hoping to break the mood. "I'm Alice Brandon. I don't remember when I was born, but I do know that I was made in 1918. I have a special ability… I can see the future. Sort of," I said, laughing nervously and playing with my spiky hair. "I saw you coming a long time ago."

His expression was one of sheer bewilderment. What do you say to someone who's just told you they're psychic? "Thanks, lady, but you're nuts and I'm leaving"?

"I promise, I would never hurt you," I said softly. "I've seen you many times. I've seen you before this, with your companions, and I've seen you after this, with me… and you're happy with me. I'm happy. We're supposed to-" I cut myself off; no use laying all the cards out on the table. His brain might explode if I did.

He still sat there mutely, fidgeting, and I could see in his face that he had no idea what to say. I gently moved to sit next to him, and took his scarred hands. "Why don't you start with your name?" I suggested softly.

"Jasper Whitlock, ma'am," he said quietly.

I giggled. "You can knock it off with the whole 'ma'am' thing. I'm not your mama."

He smiled despite his nervousness. "No, miss, you're definitely not."

I shook a finger at him and grinned. "That didn't mean switching to 'miss'. I'm Alice. Just Alice. C'mon, say it for me."

He grinned. "Okay, Just Alice."

"I'll allow that for now," I said, mischievously.

"Uh… what do you want to know?"

"_Everything_."

He took a deep breath. "Okay. Well, I was born in Texas in 1843. Youngest Major the Confederate army ever had," he said, a little pride leaking into his voice.

I poked his shoulder with a finger. "You've held up remarkably well for such an old man."

He cocked an eyebrow and smiled.

"I will get you to laugh out loud before an hour's out, Major Whitlock," I said, grinning from ear to ear.

"I was changed in 1863. I was twenty." His face darkened a bit as he mentally ran over the next chapter in his history.

"It's okay," I said quickly. "You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to, and you don't have to tell me everything right now, either. "

He squeezed my hand in gratitude. "So, um… You actually see the future?"

"Yes."

"So you can see my future," he said quietly. His expression was strange, like he was waiting for bad news or something.

"Yes, I can," I said softly. "I have many times. And it's so much clearer now that you're here with me."

"Is it- is it-" He looked down, not knowing what to say, not knowing how to voice his fears.

I put my fingers underneath his chin and gently lifted it until his eyes met mine. "Your future is happy, as far as I can see," I said softly. "We're together. You love me, I love you. Very much. Last thing I saw, we'd passed the year two thousand, and we were still happy."

Jasper simply gazed at me, his features softening, a small smile beginning to form.

"I promise you," I whispered, "you're safe with me. All of you. It's safe." We sat there like that, my hand caressing his cheek, my gold eyes staring into his crimson ones, and something propelled me forward. I didn't think. I didn't plan. I simply leaned forward and softly kissed him.

When I pulled away, there was a light in his eyes that hadn't been there before. He fully smiled for the first time since meeting me.

"I'm sorry to be so forward," I said shyly, but still mentally reprimanding myself. I wasn't sorry, not one damn bit.

Jasper smiled again. "It's okay. It's not every day that a man gets kissed by such a pretty lady."

"You must think I'm crazy," I sighed.

"Not really. I have my own abilities. I do understand how it is," he said kindly.

I cocked my head. "Abilities?"

He hesitated for a second. "I can feel what others are feeling. And, if I need to, I can make them feel what I want them to feel."

_Chelsea._ I involuntarily backed up a bit.

"No, no," he interjected quickly. "I promise you, Alice, I don't walk around doing that all the time. I won't do it to you. Ever. It's cheating."

I relaxed and nodded. Part of me was still wary.

"It's why I went with you," he explained. "I could feel that you… you loved me. You knew me, somehow. And you really have been waiting a long time."

I nodded. "The vision of you was the only thing that I kept from my past life. I can't remember anything else… just your face, from my visions. Probably because I had them after I changed, too." I smiled a bit. "I've been waiting since 1918."

Jasper smiled and shrugged. "Well, you've got me now, for better or for worse," he said, chuckling. "Don't know how this is gonna work out for you, but after feeling what was coming off of you in that bar, I'm willing to give it a try."

I wrapped my arms around him, and let out a breath that I didn't know I'd been holding. This was a sigh I'd been waiting to let out for thirty years.

He was real.

He was here.

And he was staying.

**The Cullen Kissing Booth is still open to all reviewers! If you'd like, I can probably persuade Jacob to join in, too. (You know teenage boys; they'll never turn down an opportunity for a few smooches.) So read, leave a review, and you'll get a big wet one from any Cullen you'd like. Pretty good deal, if I do say so myself. ;)**


	10. Chapter 10

**You're in luck, my intrepid readers (well, I **_**hope**_** you consider it luck): I was particularly active this weekend, so this is one of two chapters I'm putting up today. I hope you like them.**

"This is just so… _strange_!" Jasper said, laughing.

We lay in my bed together. I didn't really need a bed, as sleep was no longer necessary, but I liked having one around. It made me feel normal, feel comforted.

Jasper lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling, hands behind his head. I was on my stomach next to him with my feet swinging idly in the air behind me, and my head resting on my folded arms.

I smiled. "What's strange?"

Jasper looked down at me. "I just met you. Not more than 24 hours ago! I run into this dirty diner because I think nobody's going to be in there, and there sits this… this pretty little thing in clothes that could make a priest blush, and she hops off her chair and tells me that I've got to come with her." His chest shook with laughter. "I actually _did_ it! And now I'm lying in her bed… her _bed!_... and you're next to me, and I've already even _kissed_ you.." He closed his eyes and shook his head, still smiling. "This is crazy. You're crazy, you know that?"

I grinned up at him. "Nope, not crazy. Just right all the time."

He laughed out loud. "And the mouth on you! So brassy for someone so little." He reached out and poked the tip of my nose with one finger. "Brassy. That's what my mama would have called you, right before she ran you off the ranch."

I pouted. "Your mother wouldn't have liked me?"

"Hell, no," Jasper chuckled. "Not in the 1800's, darlin', not with that skirt. She would've chased you off with a broom and called you a rather unladylike name."

I sighed happily. "Say that again."

"Uh… What part?"

"The term of endearment part, in that little bit of Southern accent you've still got."

He cocked an amused eyebrow. "You mean… darlin'?"

"That's the one." I smiled ear to ear. "It's okay, Jasper; you don't have to understand it. I'm female. We women are weird."

Jasper sighed loudly. "Women. Strange when they're alive, still strange when they're undead." I playfully punched him on the arm.

He shifted position, lying on his side and propping himself up on one arm. "I haven't smiled this much in… in a long time, Alice," he said quietly. "I don't know why I trust you so much, but I do. Maybe it's just that your feelings, they're so… strong… pure, really…" He smiled. "You've got two settings – imp and sweetheart."

"I'm glad I make you smile, Jasper."

He bit his lip. "I've got a question for you," he said haltingly. "What's it like, seeing the future? It's got to be tough sometimes. I mean, what do you do when you see that something bad's going to come to pass?"

"I won't lie, Jasper," I said softly. "It is hard sometimes. Knowing… Knowing can be a burden." I sighed. "Until I got a clear vision about you, that you'd be coming to that diner at a crossroads, I lived in Paris. I loved Paris, so much… It was so beautiful, so vibrant. Just an amazing place. You couldn't throw a stick without hitting an artist of some sort."

"And then I saw the international pot boiling over, if you will," I continued sadly. "I saw what was coming. I saw Germany and Italy sending forces in to take over MY city." I shifted over on my side, facing Jasper. "I couldn't do a damned thing about it. What was I gonna do? Walk up to De Gaulle and tell him that Hitler and Mussolini were coming, and bringing all their friends?"

Jasper reached out and held my hand.

"At the least, I would've been laughed out. At the worst, I would've been captured. Or outed as one of us. and you can never be outed… The Volturi WILL hunt you down and destroy you if you reveal yourself." I swallowed. "So I had to sit back, knowing that the attack was coming, trying like hell to get people to make themselves safe. Trying to pick off the soldiers one by one as they came into the city."

"And as if that's not enough, then you start blaming yourself for what you didn't see, for what you couldn't see. I was so focused on Paris, that I didn't see what else was going on."

Jasper shifted onto his back again, and pulled me close. I laid my head on his shoulder, and draped my arm across his chest. He had his arm around me, and his hand gently rubbed my shoulder.

"I wish I'd known what Hitler was doing with the Jews," I whispered. "I maybe could've… maybe…"

"Don't you say that, honey," Jasper gently said. "You couldn't have done a damn thing. You're just one person. One damned cute person, but still only one. You know how many troops it took to liberate those camps?"

"I know, I know…" I sighed. "I still wish I could've done something."

Jasper kissed me on the top of my head. "And there's that whole sweetheart part of you again."

I smiled, and then took a deep breath. "But knowing what's going to happen isn't all bad. I've seen you in my future for quite some time. And that thought, knowing that I had someone waiting for me out there… It's gotten me through a lot."

"Gotten you through a lot? What happened?"

I told Jasper everything. Well, everything I remembered; everything from waking up this way, to Carlo and James, to the Volturi, to finding him. Dusk turned to midnight, which turned to dawn. I left nothing out.

By the end of my story, Jasper had enfolded me in every way he could. I sat cross-legged on his lap, with my back against his chest. His arms were wrapped around me, and his chin gently rested on my shoulder. The rise and fall of his chest, along with the feeling of his breath on my cheek, was reassuring; he didn't need to say anything. The protective, slightly possessive cocoon that he held me in said it all.

"I wish I could tell you my story," he finally said quietly. "I can't yet. I just can't. I hope you'll understand."

I squeezed one of his hands. "It's okay. I don't expect you to. I've got lots of time to find out what makes you tick."

And we did; we had all the time in the world. We really only left my wonderfully cozy bed to feed outside. That's what our days consisted of, for a week or so – talk, talk, talk, feed. Repeat.

I introduced Jasper to the idea of only consuming blood from animals. He thought I was joking at first; I showed him I wasn't. He did take the idea seriously when he found that I was serious, and something indefinable changed in him when he agreed to start only drinking animal blood. Something… lightened. He'd been walking around in this cloud of what looked like self-hatred and guilt, and when he found out that he could live without killing, some sort of spark came into his eyes.

We washed the remains of our hunt off of ourselves in a stream, and walked hand-in-hand through the woods. "You seemed to be okay with that, Jasper. Am I right?"

He nodded. "Tastes like hell, but I can get used to it." He suddenly stopped and pulled me into a tight hug. "Thank you so much," he said in a strangled voice. "You don't know it, but you've just saved me."

"Saved you?"

"I don't want to be a monster anymore," he said quietly. "I don't have to be one now. I didn't know this was possible. I'm just afraid, though," he said, pulling away. "What if I'm not strong enough?"

I looked him straight in the eyes and concentrated, hard.

I saw us. We were in a field surrounded by trees. I watched myself… wait, what was I doing? Throwing a baseball? _Me_?

I threw the baseball straight at a grinning Jasper, who readied his bat. The ball connected with the bat, and it flew high and away.

Two shapes ran after the ball; one large, dark-haired, muscular man, and one smaller, leaner, bronze-haired man. They gleefully chased after it, playfully shoving one another out of the way.

Meanwhile, another blonde man laughed at the two boys from behind the catcher – a very pretty woman with caramel-colored hair. His hand rested on her shoulder, and she reached up to stroke it in response.

I watched myself spin around as a stunningly gorgeous blonde woman tried to steal home. I caught the ball that one of the fighting boys had tossed to me, and I pitched it toward the catcher as hard as I could. She caught it, and another woman stepped forward – no, not a woman, not quite. A teenage girl. Brown hair, warm brown eyes, nervous smile. She pronounced the blonde "out", and I realized a few very important things.

These people were family, somehow. My sisters and brothers. Jasper's sisters and brothers.

Except for the human girl, they were all vampires, every one of them. Every one had the gold eyes of an animal-blood drinker.

My heart leapt in my chest as I realized that Jasper was among the gold-eyed. I watched as the big, dark man ran past him and stole his hat; Jasper left the base that he'd claimed and ran after him, yelling playful obscenities.

I came back to the present with Jasper shaking me by the arms. "Alice," he cried. "Alice! What's wrong?"

My face lit up in a smile. "Nothing's wrong," I said. "Nothing at all. Just a vision. A wonderful one."

"What did you see?"

"I saw us, Jasper… Many years from now. We were with other vampires, and we regarded them as family. We were playing baseball with them, of all things," I said, laughing. "But here's the thing: not one of them was red-eyed. _Including you. _There was even a human girl with us… And you seemed fine! Just fine."

Jasper's expression was incredulous. "Really? You're serious?"

I put my hands on my hips. "Do I look like I'm lying?"

"Oh my God, you're not," he gasped. "So… So I'm going to be okay."

"Yes," I said, laughing. I grabbed his face with both hands and kissed him again. He was just too cute; he looked like an innocent, trusting little boy.

He kissed me back, first gently, then fiercely, I responded wholeheartedly. He broke it off, smiling. "You're gonna get me in trouble, aren't you?"

"Yes," I responded cheekily, "but I promise it'll be fun trouble."

He took my hand again, and we walked into the house. "So where are we supposed to find this family of ours?"

I sighed. "That I don't know. The vision was of where they will be, not necessarily where they are. And I didn't pick up any names other than you jokingly yelling cuss words at some big guy named Emmett."

"I was cussing? Loudly?" Jasper laughed.

I shrugged. "He stole your hat."

"Hm. Well, I guess we at least have a starting place, if we can figure out where it is."

"We were in a field," I said. "Lots of trees. Mountains in the distance."

Jasper nodded. "Okay, well – that makes it easier right there. Not too many major mountain ranges. Probably either the Pacific Northwest or the Appalachian mountains. How was the weather?"

"Thunderstorm."

"Well," he said, "let's pick a place to start." He got up and paced the room. "Both territories have plentiful wildlife, but the Pacific Northwest is more remote. Appalachian territory's surrounded by people…" He rubbed his chin and paced more. I could definitely see him pacing in a tent, plotting out some regiment's next move. "Pacific Northwest has pretty much nobody, and it's got easy access to Canada if they need to run." He stopped, and turned towards me decisively. "We start in Oregon and work our way around the surrounding territories."

"Yes, sir, Major Whitlock," I said, grinning and sitting on the bed.

He smiled and turned toward the door. "Well? he queried, reaching it. "You comin'?"

"You mean now? Like _now_ now?"

"When else?"

I laughed incredulously. "I've got to pack, Jasper!" I looked around, and realized – I truly didn't have to bring everything with me. I could leave most of it here, and buy new things once we found the others. "Alright, just... give me a minute, and we'll leave. I can leave most of this, but there are a few things I have to have."

Ever the gentleman, Jasper came over. "Anything I can help you with?"

"It's nothing heavy. Just one thing, really." I pulled open a drawer in my dresser and took out a flat, paper-wrapped parcel. I sat on the bed and stared at it, unopened.

"May I?" Jasper asked gently.

I nodded. "Just be careful."

The parcel he unwrapped had my old gold dress in it. It had been gold, before, but by this time it was very well-worn and thirty years old.

Jasper looked at me, frowning. "This makes you sad."

"I woke up in this dress, after I was changed," I said quietly. "I know so very little about my human life. Almost nothing. But I hold this dress, and I feel… I feel…" I took a deep breath. "Kindness. Longing. Being loved. I can't explain it. I wish I knew." Jasper sat down and put an arm around me. "I have a family out there, somewhere. They're probably still alive," I said, sighing. "I just wish I could remember them."

"We don't have to go find this family you saw," Jasper said. "We can go find your human family, if you want."

"No," I said, shaking my head and putting the golden dress in a bag. "Not now. That would cause… problems. Let's find this family. Just… Will you promise me something, Jasper?"

"Anything."

"Will you help me find out about my human life someday?"

He smiled and kissed my hand. "Absolutely, Alice."

I couldn't be serious for too long. "One more thing?"

"Yes, darlin'?"

"Let me buy you some new clothes?"

Jasper stood up, threw his hands up in mock disgust, and walked out the door laughing. I followed quickly on his heels.

**Remember: I'd love to make my stories better, but I can't without your reviews! If you liked it, let me k now. And if you hated it, let me know that too. **


	11. Chapter 11

We found them in February of 1949, after much searching. We'd followed a bread-crumb trail of information after reaching Oregon, mostly about the amazing, pale doctor who tirelessly worked in hospitals at all hours, saving lives. Strangest gold eyes he had, they'd say.

Jasper and I walked up to the towering, beautiful wooden house with its banks of clear windows. I squeezed Jasper's hand – he smelled other vampires, and immediately went on the defensive – and pulled him toward the front door.

When it opened, a gorgeous young blonde woman stood there. I'd seen her in my vision, and I immediately smiled.

She narrowed her eyes, and without taking her piercing glare from me, yelled "Carlisle!"

"Carlisle" turned out to be the doctor we'd heard so much about, the one in my vision who'd been so gently touching the caramel-haired catcher. He moved to the front, and the blonde woman stood behind him, arms crossed, just as defensive as Jasper was. I gently squeezed Jasper's hand again to reassure him.

"Can I help you?" Carlisle asked smoothly.

"Hi!" I squeaked. "I'm Alice, and this is Jasper, and I saw you in a vision, and... We're supposed to be with you."

His eyebrows shot up, and after a pause, Carlisle laughed out loud. "That's... that's a new one," he said. "You don't drink human blood, do you?"

I pointed to my eyes. "Nope. Neither does Jasper, but he's much newer at it than I am. I stopped in... what was it? 1922, or so, when Aro told me about you."

Another lifted eyebrow. "Aro told you about me? Hm. You should come in, and we should probably talk."

I gave a cheery "Okay!" and tugged the reluctant Jasper forward.

The blonde woman only let us in the house after a pointed look from Carlisle. "This is Rosalie Hale," Carlisle said. "You'll have to pardon her. She," he said, looking her way with a wry smile, "needs some work on trusting others. Esme, could you join us?"

The caramel-haired woman walked in and offered her hand. "It's very nice to meet you," she said in a warm voice. "I'm Esme Cullen."

"I'm Alice Brandon," I said, shaking her hand happily. "We're going to get along _great. _You're going to love me, I promise."

She laughed too, although I'm sure it was out of pure shock.

I shoved Jasper forward. "Nice to meet you, ma'am," he said softly, lowering his head a bit. "I'm Jasper Whitlock."

Esme sensed his reticence and grasped his hand in both of hers warmly. "Pleasure to meet you as well, Mr. Whitlock." Jasper eased just a little bit, and stepped back to encircle my waist with his arm.

"Please, sit down," Carlisle offered. We did, Jasper and I on one couch, Esme and Carlisle on another. Rosalie stood with her arms crossed in the corner of the room, still glaring at the intruders. "Now," Carlisle said with a smile. "Why don't you start from the beginning and tell us why you're here?"

So I did. I told them everything, and Jasper would gently poke me when I was getting off on some wild tangent.

When I was done, Carlisle had a fairly amused look on his pale face. "Well... Wow... I must say that there aren't many who have the wherewithal to resist Chelsea. And your power – that's quite amazing." He paused for a minute to look at Esme, who smiled gently and nodded. "You're sure you and Jasper are supposed to be here?"

"Yes, sir, absolutely," I said. "As far as my visions have told me, we're still here in fifty years."

Carlisle turned to Jasper. "And how has everything worked out for you, with her finding you?"

"It was quite a shock, sir," Jasper said slowly. "But I trust her power. She wouldn't have found me otherwise." He smiled at me. "And when she's set on something, she's very persistent about it. That I've learned."

"Look, I promise that I wouldn't push my way into a situation that would end up badly for you," I pleaded. "I've seen all this, us together, and we're very happy. All of us. Even Rosalie." Rosalie snorted from the corner.

"If you're going to join us, there are a few rules you need to follow," Carlisle said sternly. "We do not drink human blood. If there's a slip-up, and you're really trying, we can work with that... But we do not take life here, not if we can possibly avoid it. We live in one area as long as we can, among humans if possible – which means that we cannot ever show ourselves for what we really are."

He continued. "This is a harmonious house, mostly, and we'd like to keep it that way. There are two others that live here – Emmett Cullen, Rosalie's mate, and Edward Cullen. They're out hunting. But if the house becomes unhappy, we'll have to rethink this. We have very carefully constructed stories for the humans," he said seriously. "Esme and I are married, which we are anyways." Esme smiled beatifically at him. "Rosalie, Emmett, and Edward are our adopted children. To the public, we're just a kind couple with a soft spot for orphans. We cannot endanger that."

Esme spoke up. "If this is what you want, and you're okay with these rules, then we'd be happy to have you."

I made myself look at Jasper, when what I really wanted to do was to jump up and hug Esme and Carlisle until she squeaked. Poor guy, he looked terrified. "Um, Carlisle, do you mind if we go outside for a minute?" He nodded, and I took Jasper out.

Jasper looked at me seriously. "Alice, is this what you really want?"

"I want this almost as much as I wanted you," I said softly. "Jasper, do you trust me?"

"Yeah," he said, smiling wryly. "I think."

"Then trust me now. These are good people, aren't they?"

He sighed. "Yes, they seem to be. Rosalie's very protective... Carlisle and Esme have nothing but kindness coming off of them. Esme especially."

"Well, then, trust me that you're going to come to see Rosalie as a sister, Carlisle as a father, and Esme as a mother. And you've got two brothers who you'll come to love. I promise you, this is good for you. Good for us."

"And you really think they can teach us to not want human blood?"

"Yes," I said seriously. "Carlisle works in hospitals. With patients. _Bleeding _patients, Jasper. And no kills."

Jasper pulled me close and buried his face in my hair. "You came into my life, and you turned everything upside down," he murmured.

"Was I wrong to do it?" I whispered.

"No, honey. You've made me smile, and I never thought I'd do that again." He kissed the top of my head gently. "I guess I'll trust you here, too."

I squeezed him and dragged him back into the house. "We'll do it!"

Esme ran up and hugged me. "Then welcome, daughter." She moved to Jasper. "And welcome, son." She held on to him a little longer than she'd held on to me; I watched, misty-eyed, as Jasper melted into it. I'm no mind-reader, but I would have bet millions that he had his eyes tightly closed, and that he was trying to remember what hugging his own human mother had felt like.

Carlisle gave me a quick squeeze as well, and then laughed again. "Can't say I ever saw something like this coming."

I beamed up at him. "That's what I'm for."

"Alright, then," he said, still smiling. "You can tell me when my other two sons will be back home."

I thought about it. "Three hours, five minutes, and twenty seconds." Carlisle chuckled, and I moved on to Rosalie as he and Esme tried to make Jasper feel more at ease.

Rosalie simply looked at me with her arms still crossed, arching one eyebrow.

"Look, I know you don't trust us," I said.

"You got that right."

"I promise, Rosalie, that I would do nothing to mess up this family. Nothing. And I promise you, you'll grow to love me and Jasper both. We'll be sisters," I said cheerily. "Friends. I'll annoy you sometimes, but... I've seen it. You'll like me in time, even if you don't now." I poked into my talent a little and smiled. "Besides, you don't have to worry about any competition from me. I've got Jasper, and we both know I don't look half as good as you."

Rosalie didn't speak for a minute. Then, slowly, she offered a hand. "Just as long as you don't hurt any of us," Rosalie said cautiously.

I took her hand and gave it a little squeeze. "I won't. And I'm a great shopping partner," I said confidentially. "You and I ought to go to Paris sometime. I know a few little boutiques that would kill to dress someone like you." I wasn't lying at all – they would fall all over each other to dress Rosalie! - but my little peek into Rosalie's future had told me that flattery gets you everywhere with this woman. She finally smiled at me.

"Alice, dear," Esme called out, "let's get you settled. You're lucky," she said, smiling. "We just so happen to have several extra rooms. Why don't you and Jasper go pick yours?"

"Yes ma'am!" I cried. I grabbed Jasper, and hurried up the white staircase. We quickly found the extra rooms, and Jasper claimed one as his. I looked at the other ones, frowning, and then moved onto another room.

It was _perfect._ The room had the loveliest view of the forest, and the water beyond; unfortunately, it was also occupied.

"This is Edward's room," I heard Carlisle say behind me.

"Oh, it's perfect, just beautiful," I cried. "It's got the most amazing view..."

Carlisle laughed again behind me. "Are you suggesting to me that you take over the bedroom of Edward, who you haven't even met?"

I concentrated on my own future. "Actually, as long as Jasper and I are careful with his stuff, he won't mind."

"Let her, Carlisle," Rosalie said from downstairs. "Just for the entertainment value. I've _got _to see this."

Carlisle rolled his eyes and threw his hands up in the air. "Do what you like. It's between you and Edward. I can't say I entirely approve, but if you say he won't care, then..."

I clapped my hands in delight, and turned to Jasper.

"Oh, no, darlin'," he said. "I'm not getting in the middle of this. You can do this one on your own."

I pouted at him, and found that it didn't work. Jasper stood fixed, arms crossed, grinning smugly at me. "Fine," I said, "I'll move all this on my own." I found a tarp, laid it down in the garage, and proceeded to very carefully take all of my new brother's belongings down. I was as careful as I could be; if I found one book stacked on top of another at a 45-degree angle, it stayed stacked at a 45-degree angle. When I was finished, the garage looked like a perfect reconstruction of Edward's room.

I finished just in time to hear the faint sound of Emmett and Edward returning from the hunt. I could hear Emmett's booming laugh, and Carlisle and Esme shepherded us all onto the porch to wait for them.

When they approached, I ran forward and started to babble. "Hi," I said, shaking the thinner, bronze-haired man's hand enthusiastically. "I'm Alice, and I'm going to be your favorite sister, and this is Jasper, and I hope you don't mind, but your room was perfect, so I stacked all your stuff down in the garage, and I'd be happy to help you move it into another room, unless you want your old one back..."

Emmett immediately cracked up. "She touched Edward's stuff? Oh, man," he wheezed.

Edward, looking rather bemused, held up a hand to stop me. "It's okay, Alice. I know. And... if that's what makes you feel welcome, then please, have that room. I can pick another." He peered into the garage. "Thank you for taking such care with my things." He walked toward Jasper, and greeted him warmly.

A light came on. "Wait!' I cried, running toward Edward. "You knew? How'd you know?"

He turned toward me, grinning. "You're not the only one in this house with special abilities." Edward looked at Jasper pointedly, but kindly, as if to tell him "I understand".

Next thing I knew, I was getting my hair ruffled. "Welcome, little sister," Emmett boomed.

I fake-scowled at him, and ran my fingers back through my hair. He laughed again.

We all went inside, talking and laughing. I told my tale yet again, with Jasper sitting by, giving out a silent air of calm and contentment. I figured he was using his ability, trying to help cement this crazy dream of a happy family that I'd had. He'd said previously that he didn't just use his gift at any old point, and he hadn't asked me if this was okay; I not only forgave him for doing it, but felt a rush of warmth and love towards him for it. He was supporting me in his own unique way.

I instantly loved big, friendly Emmett, and reserved, mannerly Edward. By the end of the night, we almost did feel like a family. At some point, everyone took their leave, peeling off in couples until only myself, Jasper, and Edward were left.

"You're so sure of yourself," Edward said to me quietly.

I shrugged. "Being able to see what's coming helps."

"And what's coming for me, then?" Edward asked, sounding slightly amused. I had no doubt that he believed that I was telling the truth about my abilities, but I didn't believe that he thought I'd tell him anything but "more of the same".

I concentrated on Edward's bronze hair, bronze eyes, looking at me so seriously... And I came up with nothing. This was how my gift worked; I'd gotten good enough to where I could bring up visions on command, about 90 percent of the time. This happened to be one of the other 10 percent, and I decided instead to rely on the vision that had brought me to the Cullens in the first place.

"I can't see anything right now, Edward, but the vision I had that brought me here did have something to say about you." Edward's brows creased slightly, and he leaned forward to listen. "The vision I saw, of all of us playing baseball... There was a human girl there, too. She was with you, Edward."

He sat back, startled. "A human?"

I nodded. "I don't know what her name was. And I don't know how you came to be with her, or even her name, but I know one thing for sure. When you looked at her... Well, I'll put it this way: every woman wants to be looked at like that, like she's the only thing in the world that exists for him."

Edward blinked in disbelief. "Wow." He was silent for a moment, and then stood. He'd put what I'd come to call his "gentleman Edward" face back on. "Pleasure to meet you, Jasper, Alice," he said kindly. "If you'll excuse me, I'm going to retire for the night. Debussy calls." He walked up the stairs, stopped, and came back down.

I realized why he'd come back downstairs and smiled sheepishly.

"And I will happily listen to Debussy," Edward said, smiling wryly, "after my new sister helps me put my things back into my new room."

I jumped up, laughing, and Jasper joined me in helping move Edward's belongings into his new bedroom.

Afterwards, Jasper and I headed up into my new room. We sat against a wall, my back to Jasper's chest, looking at the full moon that rose over the grand mountain range outside the window.

"Thank you for doing this," I whispered. "I know this isn't easy for you."

Jasper kissed the top of my head. "It's alright, honey. You were right; they're good people."

"You think you'll be happy here?"

"I think I'll be happy wherever you're happy, darlin'."

I turned around on my knees to face him, and took his face gently in my hands. "I know this is crazy, Jasper, but I love you."

Jasper laughed quietly. "You've had a lot more time to get used to me than I have to you, but... I... I'm..."

"It's alright, Jasper," I said softly. "You don't have to reciprocate that."

"Alice, honey, the thing is, I can't _help_ but reciprocate it. I don't know how, I don't know when, but I seem to have... I've fallen for you. I've never said it to anyone before, so it.. it's just hard to get out. You've been so patient with me..."

I wrapped my arms around his scarred neck and kissed him fiercely. He kissed me back, just as strongly. My fingers worked their way into his hair.

I broke away from his perfect, full lips, and put small kisses all over his cheek, his strong jawline, his neck. Jasper's breathing quickened, and his large hands slid down my back.

"Alice," he murmured.

I took that as encouragement, and straddled his lap. I returned to kissing his mouth.

"Alice," he said again, softly, and gently pushed me back.

"What?" I said, mightily confused. "You don't want me?"

"Uh, honey, you're on my lap. I'm pretty sure you can tell that that's not true," Jasper said, chuckling.

I got off of him and looked at him, hurt. Why didn't he want me?

Jasper lowered his head and scratched the back of his head. "Um, Alice... Look, honey, it's not that I don't want you. I'm not, uh, the most experienced man at this sort of thing, and, uh... Well... An empty room, on a cold wooden floor? I'm pretty sure that I wouldn't be, uh, at my best." He paused, looking terribly embarrassed. "Not that I know too well what the hell my best is anymore," he muttered under his breath.

I relaxed a bit. "Jazz, I don't exactly... I've never done this, either."

"I never said I'd never... _done it _before, just... Alice, it's been... I was a human at the time! Do you know how long ago that was?"

I almost giggled. Of all the things... performance anxiety?

"Alice, darlin', I do want to... be with you. But not like this. Not on a floor."

All through this conversation, I'd forgotten two things. One, that we weren't alone, and two, that vampires have incredible hearing.

"That's a good thing," Emmett yelled from another room. "Esme just had those floors waxed. She'd kill you if you ruined 'em."

Then Rosalie's loud laughter, and another shout, this time from Esme - "Emmett Cullen, you stop that _right now_."

If a vampire could blush, Jasper would have been beet red.

"So... we shop tomorrow? Get ourselves set up?" I asked quietly, trying to keep the embarrassment out of my own voice.

"I'll trust you to do the shopping, " Jasper muttered. "And while you're out, please pick up some earplugs for our new big brother?"

Emmett laughed again, and we distinctly heard Edward call him a "boor" from somewhere down the hall.

Jasper and I locked eyes, and I do believe we both had the same thought at the same time. Living with the Cullens, we figured, was at least going to prove to be interesting.


	12. Chapter 12

Jasper and I fit in to the Cullen family the best that we could. For me, it was seamless; a little shopping with Rosalie here, a little arm wrestling with Emmett there, a little friendly argument with Edward as to whether Gershwin was "decent" or not. (I loved Gershwin, and danced around to it whenever possible – but Edward dismissed a lot of his works as "overly emotional". I told him that I found that funny, coming from a guy who listened to "Clair de Lune" on permanent repeat.)

For Jasper, it wasn't so easy. He had some past issues that I didn't know about, and all he'd tell me was that it was going to take him some time before he could really, truly trust them all. The Cullens did their part, that was true… Emmett invited him to football games, and Rosalie made a concerted effort to not scowl. Esme mothered him half to death, and Carlisle would come sometimes to sit in Jasper's room, and they'd talk about military strategy. I found out later, by accident, that Carlisle had actually been reading up on the Civil War just so that he could have something to discuss with his newest adoptee.

It was Edward who Jasper felt the closest to, although they rarely said a word to each other. Edward was very forthcoming about his gift and the fact that he couldn't help but overhear thoughts. He did assure us, though, that he never, ever spilled anyone's secrets.

Jasper would sometimes sit on the porch, his arms folded, and stare off into the distance. Edward would invariably show up and sit down near him, saying nothing. The two men would sit there, lost in their own secrets, for hours. And when Jasper would get up, he'd nod his head towards Edward and quietly thank him. For what, I didn't know. Companionship, maybe, even if it was silent?

I thought to ask, once, but Edward stopped me with a gentle hand on my shoulder. "Don't," he said softly. "Jasper's got some things to work out. He's not used to life being quite so good. He'll tell you when he's ready. It's nothing against you – he's just got to work it out for himself before he can work it out with anyone else."

Jealousy sparked a little, and I began to get my first lessons on what it was like to live in a house with a mind-reader.

Edward just laughed softly. "I know, I know, Alice… It's unfair that I know his secrets and you don't. But if it makes you feel any better, he wouldn't have told me had I not heard what was going on in his head." He leaned forward conspiratorially. "I will tell you this," he whispered. "You make him happier than he's been in decades." He smiled at me and strolled off.

I went out to the porch, instead, and just sat with him. I knew I couldn't give Jasper the same understanding that Edward could, but I sat there anyway with my head on his shoulder.

Later that night, we sat in his room. I read a book, and he stared at the fireplace.

"I told you I was in the Confederate army," he said quietly.

I immediately put my book down.

"I got turned there, made into a vampire. I was 20, and her name was Maria. Prettiest damn thing I'd ever seen," he said, sighing. "Which is why I let her in. Why the guards let her in, too."

"So there I was, this young kid, and I think… well, she made me think she was a camp follower."

I frowned. "A what?"

Jasper sighed. "A whore, Alice. Some women were in love with the idea of soldiers, and they followed us around. There weren't many, and they were very discreet about it, but there were a few. My guards thought Maria was a new one, figured the Major could use some fun… and she bit me and dragged me off."

I reached out and covered his hand in mine.

"She brought me into her little crusade… Maria was trying to take over Mexico City, because it was so densely populated. She wanted all the other vampires out, and for her chosen coven to be the only ones there." He stared back at the dancing flames. "She hand-picked me. Maria wanted me because I knew military strategy. I helped her win."

"What's so bad about that?" I asked quietly.

"My job was to create whole armies of newborn vampires, train them to kill, and then kill them when they'd outlived their usefulness. I was a bad guy, Alice."

I shook my head vehemently. "You're not now."

"Are you so sure of that, Alice?"

"Look, Jasper, I wouldn't be with you if I thought you were some… villain, vision or not." I got up and sat in Jasper's lap, laying my head against his shoulder. "I don't care what you've done. Everybody's done things that they're not proud of. What I care about is what you're doing now." I sat up and put one hand on the side of his face. "And look at you! You're living in this house, with all these other crazy people… And one completely crazy girlfriend," I added. He chuckled. "And you're not taking a single human life. You haven't in over a year. Leave all this guilt behind, Jasper," I begged. "You're a wonderful man. Everybody thinks so. _I_ think so. I love you."

Jasper pulled me close and buried his face in my hair. He said something, but it was said quietly and was muffled.

"What was that, Jazz?"

"I said, you should marry me," he said, only a little bit clearer.

I squealed loudly and rained kisses down on him. I never actually said "yes", but I think the message got across just fine.

* * *

We were married in the fall. As it turned out, Jasper had some very strong ideas on the wedding – mainly that he wanted to be married "at home", and that he just wanted it to be us and a minister. I'd started to make a fuss over that, but he gave me puppy dog eyes and all but begged. And when Jasper begs, which only happens once a few decades or so, Jasper gets what he wants. He's just too damn good at those puppy dog eyes, damn him.

"At home" turned out to not be in the Cullens' backyard. He'd managed to keep a hold on the property he'd grown up at in Houston, and all the land surrounding it. It was kept exactly as it had been when Jasper had lived there. He paid for the upkeep, which was costly, and sometimes gave tours to Southern history groups – but for that one week in October, nobody was allowed in but us and that one lone minister.

We were married as the sun set, in front of the house, under a weeping willow. Jasper wore a simple gray suit, and I wore a dress that I'd commissioned from a friend in Paris. It was form-fitting and made of cream satin, flowing out into a modest train. I wore one simple white rose tucked behind my hair, and that was it.

The minister was uncomfortable and left as soon as we were proclaimed man and wife; and honestly, that was perfectly okay with us.

We spent the week immersed in Jasper's family and past. He took me from room to room, telling me stories, showing me the places where he'd caused this notch or that crack in the wall. (Little Jasper Whitlock was quite the daredevil, apparently – not to mention a royal pain in his mother's neck.)

And after the stories were all told, and Jasper had spent his time planting flowers at his parents' graves, we were alone together.

We might not have messed up Esme Cullen's freshly waxed floors earlier, but we certainly did some damage to Mrs. Whitlock's hardwoods. And strangely enough, Jasper didn't mind one bit.

* * *

We got into a very comfortable routine, Jasper and I; he tried his hardest to resist the blood of the humans in whatever town we were living in, and I stayed by his side to help him with everything, to see when trouble was coming his way. Our relationship became deeper, and better in every way – and so did our respective relationships with the Cullens.

We lived like that, happily, until the rise of the Internet. I realized, with all this information at my fingertips, that I could finally find out about my family. Jasper kept his end of the bargain, and assisted me in my search.

In 2006, I found out that my sister, a Cynthia Thomas (nee Brandon), was still alive. She was ninety, and in an expensive, very private nursing home.

I couldn't remember her one bit, but I had to go see her. I left Jasper in Washington with the Cullens. This was something I had to do myself.

I posed as a family visitor, even though the nurses told me she didn't really have family left. No kids, they told me, and her husband had died a decade earlier. I told the nurses that I was really a rather far-off relation, and that I was doing a project for college on our families' histories.

Cynthia was mostly bedridden. She looked out at me through wrinkled eyes, which still burned with fire and intelligence. They were a bright blue.

The first thing she said when I walked in was "Dammit, where are my glasses?"

The second was a definitive "I know you. You look _so_ familiar."

I drew in a sharp breath. There was no way that she could have recognized me; according to the records I'd found, she was born in 1916, a late-in-life surprise for my mother. I'd been 15 when she was born, and 19 when I was changed.

"Hand me that book on the table there," Cynthia commanded with a wave of her hand. I picked "the book" up, which ended up being a leather-bound photo album, thick with pictures. She flipped it open to the first page… and there I stood, in a picture yellowed and faded with time.

"1918," the caption read. "Mother, Father, Cynthia, Mary Alice".

At last, after nearly a century, I was getting to see my family.

My mother was short like me, holding a two-year-old Cynthia on her hip. Father wasn't a tall man, but he seemed to have a very forbidding, almost angry air about him.

"You are the spitting image of my sister," Cynthia said, jabbing a finger at the picture. My own eyes, light in life – had they been blue, like Cynthia's?- stared at me from the page. My hair had been much, much longer, but that was definitely me.

"I never knew her," Cynthia said. "My mother would only say that she'd died. She'd never let me go with her to put flowers on Mary Alice's grave, either, but I sneaked out once and followed her. Apparently my sister died in a mental asylum."

I couldn't speak. I was in shock, and in gratitude so deeply just to be able to touch someone related to me that I couldn't have gotten a word out if I'd tried.

"They said that she wasn't right in the head," Cynthia said softly. "Mama and Papa told me she had to be there, that the Devil was in her. But I'm not stupid," she said, grinning. "Never was. Saw right through that bullshit. And I think I've pieced my sister's story together." She motioned with one aged finger for me to come closer, and I did. "And you know what? I'm not entirely convinced that my sister's body is actually in that grave at St. Dymphna's."

"You see," she said with the air of a practiced storyteller, "it was said that my sister could tell the future…"

* * *

**And that, folks, is the end. I hope you enjoyed the trip – I did. I hope I answered all your questions (including the very astute "How does Alice know what happened to her if she couldn't remember her past?").**

**After writing this, I wish very much that I could go find Alice and give her a giant hug. I could've written a whole novel with her as the protagonist; she's a lot of fun, and I hope I got her personality just right. I feel like I did. **

**Thanks, as always, go to my utterly wonderful, fantabulous reviewers – especially CeruleanKitten, who I think was my first reviewer and has left something on just about every chapter. Thanks for taking the ride with me. ******


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